Big Jobs and Big Bangs
by HappyPlaces
Summary: Sequel to Decisions & Disasters
1. Chapter 1

_**Big Jobs and Big Bangs Part One**_

_Post TS, still in Ranger's head._

_Spoilers: Through PL_

_Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations._

_Rating: A nice solid R._

_Alas, if you recognize them from JE's series, I don't own them. I get nothing out of this other than the satisfaction of getting Ranger & Steph together._

_Early March, About Five Months After the Wedding…_

The envelope from RangeMan Boston had been sitting on my desk for three days, untouched. I'd been avoiding it, fully aware of what its presence meant. I didn't even need to open it. Its color was a dead giveaway.

We use colored envelopes to indicate the importance and priority of the contents, as well as the danger potential.

This envelope was red.

Blood red.

The color indicated several things. High priority and very important. A big paycheck – over a million dollars. A team will be required. It's in-country. The danger potential is high – the highest for a job in the continental United States. Plenty of action. High stress factor. No boredom factor at all.

All in all, a mixed bag of blessings and curses.

I wanted to open it up and find out what the job entailed as much as I didn't want to open it up.

I sighed. No matter how long I ignored it, it would wait. If I didn't deal with it soon, another would arrive.

I pulled the envelope toward me. I picked it up. I opened it. I pulled out the contents and flipped through the papers.

Fuck.

I lifted the handset to my office phone. I needed to talk to Steph and Hector before I spoke to anyone else – including Tank.

A half hour later, I hear them coming down the hall to my office. Steph is talking a mile a minute, as usual. She sounds excited, so I think it's safe to assume their bust went well.

Inside, I smile to think of all she's accomplished since she came to me. She's got Hector as a partner. The man that my entire staff – myself included – feared, and she's got him following her around like a puppy. He accomplished what no one – myself included – managed: Steph carries weapons and is in shape. They go to dance classes twice a week, and they run together every day now, too. When they run early in the morning, I usually join them. Hector armed Steph with non lethal weapons. In return for an armament she felt comfortable carrying every day, she learned to love a 9 millimeter Sig. She makes good money between her RangeMan salary and the money from the mid-range bonds. While she was on light duty following her surgery, she sat down with my accountant and my lawyer to set up education funds and trust funds for her nieces, as well as Holly and Jakey. All five children will be able to attend any school they want and not have to hold a part time job or struggle.

When they walk into my office, I've got the paperwork for the Boston job spread across my desk. I look up as they enter and watch all the color drain from Steph's face. Hector catches her around the waist as her knees buckle and he pulls her to him for support.

"Babe…" What the Hell just happened?

"Is this where you tell me you're leaving and can't tell me where you're going, how long you'll be gone, or even if you're coming back?" Her voice is hoarse and her eyes are glittering with tears.

So that's the problem. I smile at her and shake my head. "No, Babe."

I can see the relief in her face as her body sags. Hector lowers her into a chair and I walk around my desk to her. I crouch down in front of her. Her eyes meet mine. "What's going on then, Ranger?"

"RangeMan Boston has a request from a city in Massachusetts. The city has financial problems, and they are trying to encourage businesses to move there. The problem is that the city is one of the most dangerous in the country because they can't afford adequate law enforcement. The business owners in the Entertainment District have pooled their money to hire a private security force, and they want RangeMan. Boston doesn't have the manpower to cover the job. They contacted us for additional staffing."

"Are you sending people to the Boston office or to the job?"

"The job, Babe."

Her voice drops to a whisper when she says, "You're going, aren't you?" Her eyes have dropped and she's no longer looking at me.

"Only if you and Hector are, Babe."

Her head snaps up and her eyes meet mine again. "You're willing to take me with you?"

It doesn't escape my notice that she said nothing about me _not_ going. "Of course. And if you don't want to go, then I'm not going." No way am I leaving my wife of less than six months for a job with a one year contract.

Her face lights up with a brilliant smile. "We're going. You love this stuff. You haven't left town for a job since we got together."

She's right, I haven't. I never told her how many jobs I turned down to stay with her. I also never told her that my marriage to her voided several outstanding government contracts. She'd only feel guilty. I smile at her. "Maybe we should ask Hector if this is okay with him first."

A guilty look settles onto her face as she turns to Hector. He's grinning like he just won the lottery. He's been remarkably restrained since he began working with Steph regularly. Although being her partner is exciting, I'm willing to bet he'd like a little violent mayhem right about now. "What do you say, Hec?" She's the only one who could call him that without being killed.

His face is about to split in half, his grin is so big. "I'm in, _Hermana_."

"What about Juan?"

"We can see each other in Massachusetts. It's not like we're going across the country."

Steph nods once and turns back to me. "We're in. Now when are we going?"

"I need to talk to Tank. I'll call a meeting for one this afternoon. I'll brief everyone then. I'll announce who's going then, too."

She nods again. "Who are you going to take?"

"I'm not sure yet. Do either of you have any preferences?" I'm not about to make any promises, but I'd rather take guys she and Hector feel comfortable with.

They both think for a few minutes. "Cal and Lester would be my top two choices," Steph finally says.

Hector nods. "I agree."

Damned if they didn't both pick the same two guys I was thinking of taking. "Good choices. I'll add them to my list."

They both get up to leave. I pull Steph into my arms and kiss her. "See you at one, Babe." Her eyes are slightly unfocused as she follows Hector out of my office. She has a big smile on her face, though. For that matter, so do I.

Tank is the next person I need to speak to before the meeting. I've arranged for him to meet me in the office at eleven. He's on time, as usual.

"Hey." Tank drops himself into a chair as he greets me.

"Got a request from Boston."

"I know. And I can't go."

What? I hadn't been planning on taking him as I wanted him to run the show here, but why would he flatly refuse to go? "Why not?"

Tank sighs and looks at the floor. "Lula."

That doesn't sound right. Lula would let him go and would tag along, not wanting to miss anything. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Tank."

He heaves another sigh. What the fuck is going on with them? He fidgets, but remains silent, his mouth opening and closing several times. "She's pregnant," he finally mumbles.

"Congratulations, man." I push off my desk and hug him. I'm happy for him, and for Lula.

He's grinning now. "I'm gonna be a dad!" I think he's a little excited. I know he's happy.

"Sounds that way. Anybody else know yet?"

Tank shook his head. "We just found out yesterday. Lula wants to tell Steph and Hector herself."

I nod. "The guys need to know since you'll be on mandatory office duty for a while."

Tank grimaces. He hates to be stuck in the office. "I know. We're going to get married. We want you and Steph there."

"Consider it done. Where and when?"

"This weekend in Atlantic City."

"Not Vegas?"

"Lula doesn't want to fly right now."

I should have known; it's not like Lula to pass on Vegas. "We'll be there."

"Thanks. You gonna stand up for me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Now, about the Boston job…"

We go over he basics of the job. He'll be left in charge of the Trenton office until the baby is at least a year old. That leaves me to take his place on the streets when this job is over. I've missed being out there full time, and I find myself looking forward to the next two years or so. I'll add myself to the Hector and Steph mix. That combo guarantees excitement.

_One O'clock Meeting…_

I can tell by the matching grins Steph and Hector are wearing that Lula has told them about the baby. Steph is all but dancing in her chair. Hector has his hand on her arm in an effort to keep her still. I shake my head. There's no controlling her.

When Tank walks into the room, Steph is out of her chair before Hector can stop her. She throws her arms around him and he picks her up, hugging her right back. She whispers something in his ear, making him grin. He whispers something back, making her smile, then he puts her down and they both take their seats.

They're both getting curious looks from everyone except Hector and me.

I decide to let Tank share his good news before we get down to business. I suspect that it'll be easier to keep everyone's attention on business that way.

"Tank will open the meeting," I announce.

Every head in the room swivels toward Tank, who turns purple. Sort of.

"Uh.. Got some news."

The guys wait expectantly. Steph is squirming in her chair. Funny how a woman who doesn't want kids of her own is so excited about this one. But then, she won't be the one putting on weight, going through labor and delivery, changing diapers, breast feeding, getting up in the middle of the night and potty training. Makes more sense to me now.

"Well?" Lester demands after the silence goes on too long for his taste.

"Lula's pregnant!" Tank finally spits out.

The room is filled with congratulations, catcalls, and cheering. Tank is buried under a pig pile of guys congratulating him. I hope they don't do that to Lula. She'll shoot them.

Eventually, everyone settles down again. Every person in the room is smiling. It's time to get down to business. I hand out copies of the paperwork from Boston so that everyone can look it over.

"The contract calls for a team of six to twelve people. The job is in the Entertainment District of Springfield, Massachusetts." I press a button on a remote and an enlarged map of the area appears on the wall behind me. "Our primary function will be security. We can expect to deal with the chemically impaired, the violent and the armed. The city has a gang problem, so that will also be an expected variable." Nods around the room as they flip through the paperwork detailing the operation. "This is a one year contract with a one year extension option. Team members can expect to be gone for a minimum of one year. They will get combat pay." More nodding. This is standard for jobs like this. "I have chosen a team of nine to begin with. We will be leaving in thirty days. As always, you have the option to refuse." I always make that option available. I'd rather not take someone who doesn't want to be there.

Most everyone is still smiling. Tank, knowing he is stuck here, isn't. Neither is Hal. I'm not surprised; I didn't think he'd want to leave Heather. That's why I didn't choose him. He doesn't know that yet. Lester looks at me. "Who gets to go play?" he wants to know.

"Hector, Steph, me, Cal, Junior, Zero, Ram, Bobby, and Lester." I saved his name for last just to make him squirm. "Tank will be in charge here with Hal as second-in-command." Nods all around the room. "I'm going to try to hire a few of our contract workers as regular employees until this job is over. Any questions?" Negative responses across the board. "OK. Everyone except the team, Tank and Hal are dismissed."

On the way out the door, most of the guys pound Tank on the back. He's grinning like mad again. When it's down to the eleven of us, we get down to business. We plan patrol routes, schedules, and teams. We decide to take my F150, the Navigator and one Bronco. We plan to take both the lethal and non-lethal weapons.

We will need to be highly visible. A deterrent as much as enforcement. We plan for additional training sessions as a group. We don't all work together closely enough to leave without doing so. In addition, most of us need to get into the habit of going for non-lethal force first. Steph is the only one for whom this is automatic, but Hector is actually pretty good, too. Steph looks annoyed about the increased training. No surprise there.

We discuss uniforms. In an area filled with night clubs and bars, black will be all too prevalent for us to wear standard RangeMan uniforms. We want to stand out and be noticed, not blend in. Most of us are at a loss in this case. We usually try to blend in or disappear into the shadows. Standing out is not in our training. In the end, Ms. Fashion Queen gives us the best possible idea. Urban camouflage. Apparently, she saw it at the sporting goods store in the mall during hunting season.

Who knew that her mall addiction would be helpful?

Finally, we make arrangements for a meeting with the business owners the day after our arrival, before we begin the job.

"Any questions?" I get negative responses across the board.

"Comments?" More negative answers.

"Suggestions?"

Steph raises her hand. "What, Babe?"

"Where are we staying?"

Good question. I flip through the paperwork again and find what I need. "A house has been rented for us. It's at the edge of the city near the highway. A dozen bedrooms, four bathrooms, open floor plan."

"Who's cooking?" Should have known that would be her primary concern. Judging from the looks on the faces of the rest of the team, she's not alone.

"Don't know. I'll hire someone." Everyone looks relieved.

We break up the meeting after arranging to meet at six the next morning to run. The next thirty days will be filled with things we will do as a group. It will be practice for the next year.

Everyone but Tank leaves the room. "Problem?" I ask him.

"Possibly."

"What?"

"Got a call from The Dick."

The Dick is Steph's ex-husband. He handled some legal work for a woman we arrested at a security job last year at Steph's request. "What did he want?"

"Georgia will be released next week."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Good for her. Good for us. Bad for Morelli."

"Why?" I must have missed something.

"Morelli works vice."

"I know."

"Morelli spends a lot of time working with hookers."

"I know."

"Morelli spends a lot of time with hookers personally."

"I know."

"Georgia is one of the women he likes to see. Lately, he's been seeing none of them. Except her. He's been visiting her a lot. Putting money in her commissary account. Brining her kids to visit."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit. And the Chief found out."

"Fuck."

"Morelli's been told to stay away or lose his job."

"Why now?"

"Dunno."

"What do you think?"

"I think he really cares for her. I think he'll risk his job."

Until Steph came along, Morelli and I got along well. We had a good working relationship. When she came along, our working relationship became strained. When he lost her to me, things got downright ugly for a while. In the end, he realized he'd rather have her a friend than not have her at all. He'd made amends and things had gone back to pre-Steph days. He's a damned good cop. It took me only a moment to make my decision. "Hire him."


	2. Chapter 2

_Atlantic City, Saturday Morning…_

We got in late last night. Steph and Hector had a skip that gave them a lot of static, so we ended up leaving late.

It's early now. I got up to spend some time at the hotel's indoor track. I'm currently debating whether or not to wake my wife to go with me. On one hand, she's used to the exercise. On the other hand, waking her at five in the morning is always a precarious move.

She had a busy day yesterday. It started at the mall, where she and Hector met Lula to shop for a wedding dress. That took them multiple hours, as the mall didn't have what Lula wanted. They finally found what she was looking for at a small clothing store not far from Stark Street. I didn't dare ask what it looks like. After they found a dress, they went hunting for shoes. From there, the ladies had their hair and nails done while Hector arranged the wedding reception.

While Lula went home to get packed, Steph and Hector went out to hunt for Elmer Smith. Since his address was listed as a homeless shelter, and he has no friends or family locally, they had a hard time tracking him down. Steph finally hit upon he idea of returning to the bar he'd been arrested for trashing. Sure enough, there he was.

I look down at her, sleeping peacefully, and decide to let her sleep.

Steph is running around our suite, searching for God knows what. Her dress is laid out on the bed. Her shoes are on the floor next to it. She's wearing her under things and stockings already, along with her jewelry.

"Babe."

She stops emptying her suitcase and looks at me. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I can't find the card!"

I pull the card out of my suit pocket and hold it up. "This card, that you gave me to hold so it wouldn't get lost?"

She flashes me a dazzling smile. "That card."

I walk across the room and kiss her gently. "Get dressed, Babe."

She drops the robe she is wearing and my mouth goes dry. Jesus. You'd think I'd have gotten used to seeing her half dressed or naked by now. I haven't, though. Every time I see her – in any state of dress – she takes my breath away. She slips into the ice-blue dress she chose for the evening. She turns her back to me and I zip her in, pausing to kiss the nape of her neck. "You look beautiful."

She blushes and turns to me. "So do you."

"Babe." That gets me an eye roll.

She slides her feet into her shoes. Not for the first time, I wonder how she manages to walk in heels that high. But, oh, what they do for her legs. I heave a mental sigh. It's going to be a long evening.

"Let's go," she finally says. I take her hand and we leave the suite. We take the elevator down to the conference room where Tank and Lula will be married by a Justice of the Peace.

All of the off duty RangeMan employees will be there. Hal will record the who thing so that Tank and Lula will have a DVD of the ceremony, and to show anyone unable to be here. Heather, Connie, and Melvin were also invited. Vinnie was not.

Hector is giving Lula away. He seemed pleased to give away his 'favorite ladies.'. Steph will be standing up for Lula, as I am for Tank.

Lula, Juan, and Hector are standing outside the door to the room. Tank must already be inside. I do a double take when I see Lula. Holy shit. I have to work at putting a smile on my face without my jaw hitting the floor. She's wearing white spandex and lace. The dress is not unlike the one she gave Steph. It's long and white, but skin tight, backless, and has a V down to her navel. The spandex is stretched to its limits, and the lace filling in the V is looking strained. Lula looks stressed. Her smile is a little wobbly, and she can't seem to stand still.

Steph goes over and hugs her. "You look great!" she tells Lula. She's right, too. Despite the outfit, Lula is glowing. She looks beautiful.

Hector nods his assent. Juan says, "Very beautiful," and nods, too. Apparently, everyone is in agreement here. I'm betting Tank will think so, too.

I kiss her on the cheek. "Ready, Lula?" I ask her.

She beams at me, nodding. "Damn skippy!"

I do my best to hug her. She's a big woman. "I'll see you in a few minutes," I tell her as Hector takes her arm.

I enter the room to find Tank fidgeting. For a minute, I'm reminded of Steph. I smile at him. "Ready, Tank?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." He looks a little dazed. I hide a chuckle. I guess they're both nervous. I don't recall being nervous at my first wedding. I was too relieved that Steph was actually going to marry me to be nervous when we exchanged vows.

"Nervous?"

"Nope. Not me."

"Stop shredding that flower arrangement."

Tank looks down at his hands and then shoves them into his pockets. He looks at me sheepishly. "Oops."

I grin. "It'll be over soon enough."

Tank grunts at me. "No it won't."

The room is fairly full. I see Connie and Melvin, and my employees. Somehow, they aren't just employees any more. Since Steph showed up bearing cake and flowers, she's slowly bound us into a family. We work better together. We're more efficient. We know more about what makes each other tick. Once again, I am struck by how much things have changed – all for the better – since I made the decision to let her into my life.

My thoughts are interrupted as music starts. I turn to Tank and whisper, "Here we go." He nods and wipes sweat off his face with a cloth he pulled from his pocket.

The doors at the back of the room open. Everyone is on their feet now, waiting for the bride. First, though, _my_ bride walks through the door. She's wearing a dazzling smile and carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers.

She takes my breath away. Always.

When she reaches Tank and I, I pull her into my arms and kiss her quickly, while everyone is still facing the doors. She smiles up at me and moves off to wait for Lula.

The music changes to the Wedding March.

I can feel the waves of anticipation coming off of Tank in waves. I stifle a chuckle.

I hear a hitch in his breathing when Lula and Hector walk through the door. This time, I let out the soft chuckle. Tank elbows me in the back.

Lula's eyes are locked on Tank. Her smile is even more dazzling than Steph's. The thought crosses my mind that Lula's big body is too small to hold the heart and spirit she possesses. I've thought the same thing about my wife more than once.

Hector is grinning like mad as he kisses Lula on the cheek before handing her over to Tank. I can hear Connie sobbing as Tank takes Lula's hand in his. Next to him, she looks almost tiny.

Tank's voice was strong and controlled as he repeated his vows. Lula's was soft and a little shaky. They never took their eyes off of each other. When Tank was given permission to kiss his bride he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, causing catcalls and cheering to fill the room. They both looked a little dazed when the kiss finally ended.

I went to Steph and grabbed her hand. "Ready for the reception, Babe?"

She grins up at me. My heart, as always, skips a few beats when she does that. "You bet."

We head down to the restaurant Hector reserved for the reception. Juan created the menu and helped with the preparation. No one – including Hector – has seen the cake yet. Juan made it at his restaurant and brought it down with him the day before, securing it in the restaurant while he was there helping with the prep work for tonight.

The evening passed quickly with good food, cheerful music, and good friends – no, family - and dancing. Several of the guys had brought dates. Hal was dancing with Heather. For a moment, I wondered how she could dance so well without being able to hear the music. Then my feet informed me that the floor was vibrating to the beat of the music.

A slow number came on, and I pulled Steph to the dance floor. I wrapped her tightly in my arms and reveled in the way she felt there. She lay her head on my shoulder and sighed.

"You tired, Babe?"

"A little." Another sigh. Something else is going on here.

"What's wrong?"

She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I'm so happy for her. I'm so glad she's alive."

I understood, then. Benito Ramirez had tried to kill Lula because she helped Steph, who has never forgiven herself. "She wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, Babe."

She snorts and the tears threaten to fall. "Right."

I nod. "Right. She'd be still hooking or dead."

I see the truth of my statement dawn in Steph's eyes. Typically, she missed the fact that while Lula was hurt because of her, Lula was also safe now because of her. The beating Ramirez had administered forced Lula to take a good look at her life – and then change it.

Steph's head returns to my shoulder. "Thanks, Batman."

"No problem."

The song ends and I return her to our table, where Connie and Melvin are waiting. They start chatting and I head off to claim a dance with the bride. I have an offer to make her.

I wait until the song playing is finished before I step up and ask her to dance. She takes my out stretched hand and tells Tank he can have her back in a minute.

A new song starts, slow enough so I don't have to shout. "Lula. I have an offer to make you."

She looks at me a little funny. I suppose that didn't sound right. "Oh?"

I smile a little. "A job."

She looks stunned. "What?"

"You won't be any happier sitting at home than Steph would be. I 'm offering you an office position at RangeMan for as long as you want it."

Her eyes get huge, followed by her grin. "So I'll work in the office with my man all day?"

"Yes."

"Doing what?"

"Research. Monitoring surveillance cameras. Things like that."

"You got yourself a new employee."

I figured I would. "You can start when you get back from your honeymoon."

"Okay."

With that, Tank cuts in and I head back to collect my wife. It's late, and I can tell she's getting tired.

"Ready to head out, Babe?"

She yawns and nods. We say goodbye to the bride and groom and head back up to our suite.

In the elevator, she asks what I was talking to Lula about. "I offered her a job in the office."

"Did she take it?"

"Damn skippy." Steph giggles. I love that sound.

"Does Tank know?"

"Yes. He and I discussed it earlier this week."

"I wondered what she'd do while she's pregnant. She can't be chasing skips, but I can't see her sitting at home, either."

"Tank and I decided this would be a good option for her."

Steph nods. "Yeah. I think she'll like the vicarious excitement and actually having something to do. Just don't expect her to do any filing. And maybe someone should try to keep her disarmed while she's working."

"Tank and I were thinking those same things, Babe."

I haven't told her about Morelli yet. I know she's heard about him seeing Georgia, and the problems he's having at work because of it. Steph knows Georgia is being released early because she goes to visit her regularly. She doesn't know Morelli has been offered a position at RangeMan. He hasn't accepted the position yet, but I need to tell her – and soon. She could be thrilled. She could be pissed. She could try to kill me.

We walk into the suite and she immediately kicks off her shoes and begins stripping. I decide that now is as good a time as ever to tell her. She's happy and relaxed, and maybe a little drunk. Hopefully, if she goes for my throat, her reaction time will be diminished. And hey, she's not armed. I take a deep breath.

"I offered Morelli a job at RangeMan."

She stops dead, her body frozen in the act of taking off her stockings. "You did what?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Two weeks later…_

In the end, Steph agreed that hiring Morelli was a good move all around. Initially, she'd thought that I hired him in an effort to control him and his access to her. Occasionally, she forgets that with me, with us, she has her freedom. Too many people tried to control her for too long, and she's still looking for boundaries that aren't there with me.

Within a few days of Georgia being released, it became public knowledge that she and Morelli had something going. For once, Morelli shook off The Burg strictures and stepped off his ledge. Morelli was on board at RangeMan with forty-eight hours of their relationship becoming public. So far, he's working out well, even if he does have a habit of wanting things to be both morally and legally right.

Tank and Hal will cure him of that.

In a week, we leave for Springfield. We'll drive up on Sunday. We have a meeting scheduled for Monday morning with the business owners and a police liaison. Apparently, we'll be working closely with Springfield PD. Honestly, I'd prefer that. Makes getting out of legal tight spots much easier.

The past weeks have been filled with additional training. Even with the intense weapons training, the guys are still reaching for their regular guns first. To avoid any mistakes, they will not be permitted to carry their 9 millimeters in their utility belts for a while. I put that rule into effect last week. It got me a lot of grief until Lester took a good look at me and realized that I had removed the Glock from my waistband. I still had a gun n my ankle holster, but I found that – after a lifetime of reaching for my _gun_ - I couldn't get into the habit of reaching for the paintball pistol for crowd control.

Steph is having a real laugh at all of us over that one.

We are getting our revenge, though. We're making her exercise with us. It's damned funny to watch her try to take Tank down. After many hours of trying to take him down – unsuccessfully - the other day, she finally shot him with the same net gun that she shot Lester with last year. Once again, the struggles of one of my employees against Steph's non lethal armament were caught on tape. Once again, Hal made sure that Steph got a copy of the tape. She now has two in her collection, and there's no doubt in my mind that there will be more.

Steph still hasn't told her mother how long she'll be gone. I think she fears being banned from dessert. I finally convinced her to tell Mrs. Plum this Sunday at dinner, since we're leaving next week. I also arranged to have Ella make desserts for Steph every night this week.

I interviewed several cook/housekeepers yesterday who live in the area of our job. I finally hired a woman who reminded me of Val. Mona Lisa smile, Virgin Mary serene, Julia Child cook, and willing to clean. Jemma is an ebony-skinned Martha Stewart. She's also comfortable working for a house full of rowdy men who get paid to do what we do. One of the other women had run for the door when I asked her if weapons bothered her. Another had followed suit after being told that she'd be cooking for and cleaning up after eight guys and one woman. A third had headed for the hills after hearing Steph's name. Apparently, she had heard of Steph's, uh, unfortunate luck with explosions.

Jemma had said she could handle the boys. She hadn't batted an eyelash over the weapons or our job. Steph's luck didn't faze her. I hired her and doubled what I had planned to offer her as a salary.

Jemma will get the house in order Saturday and Sunday. She'll go grocery shopping and leave us a meal for Sunday night. Beginning Monday, She'll be putting three squares a day on the table, as well as keeping the house clean enough to live in. I didn't ask her to do our laundry. I felt that asking her to do the laundry for nine of us was too much. Not to mention the blood, vomit, garbage, and other junk that tends to end up on our clothing – especially Steph's.

After all, we'd need her for at least a year, and I didn't want her to quit before she even started.

All in all, we're ready to go. Everything has been taken care of – except Mrs. Plum.

_Sunday Dinner…._

I made sure would arrive a good ten minutes early for dinner. To some small extent, that keeps us in Mrs. Plum's good graces.

Usually.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Steph, Hector, and I would all be in the doghouse after tonight.

Most weeks, Hector still accompanied us to Sunday Dinner. He was always welcomed warmly, and Grandma Mazur just loves him. I think she loves baiting him, trying to make him 'change teams' as she puts it.

Somehow, I don't see her being the one to convince him.

The three of us arrived in the Navigator, with Steph behind the wheel and Hector in the back seat, bearing a large bouquet of flowers Steph had purchased this afternoon. She insisted it would lessen the blow.

I thought it would be a red flag, waved at an angry bull.

As usual, drawn by some invisible force, the Welcome Witches were waiting in the doorway. And Steph thinks I have ESP… I'd give a lot to know how they always manage to be there waiting, no matter when we arrive. Early. Late. Unexpected.

Steph looks over at them and sighs. "Crap."

"It'll be over soon, Babe."

From the back seat, I hear Hector making soothing noises at Steph, and his hand reaches out to pat her shoulder. "It'll be fine," he tells her.

If only he and I believed what we just told her.

Steph snorts at us. I guess she doesn't believe us any more than we do. Damn.

We get out of the SUV. Currently, Mrs. Plum is smiling. I doubt that will last long. Steph plasters a sick looking smile on her face.

"Mrs. Plum, Grandma." I greet them as I walk in.

Steph follows on my heels. Hector calls Mrs. Plum Mom when he greets her, but he, too, calls Mrs. Mazur Grandma. Frank is sitting in front of the television, as usual. He waves his hand at us in greeting, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Steph hands her mother the flowers. "Mom, I have something to tell you." I can hear the excitement in Steph's voice… And the underlying fear.

Mrs. Plum, apparently, only catches the excitement. "Are you pregnant?" she asks, a huge grin on her face.

I'm going out on a limb here and guessing that Steph never told her about the tubal ligation surgery she had last year.

Steph rolls her eyes. "No." He mother's face falls and Steph shoots a slightly desperate look my way. I smile slightly, letting her know I won't let the cat out of the bag about the surgery. "We're going out of town on a job, Mom."

"Where are you going? How long will you be gone? Why can't you settle down and have babies like Val?"

Steph visibly shuddered. Right around the time Lula found out she was pregnant, Val announced that she was expecting number four. When Steph heard, she mumbled something about Val being spayed soon. To her credit, she had smiled and congratulated Val.

"We leave next Sunday. The job will last about a year, but we'll be back to visit. I did settle down. I don't want babies." Steph managed to get that all out in a normal tone of voice in one breath.

"You leave in a week? Why didn't you tell me sooner? A YEAR? ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU CAN'T LEAVE FOR A YEAR! AND HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT BABIES?" Mrs. Plum failed to keep a normal tone of voice, and by the end of her barrage, she was screaming. Not yelling. _Screaming._

We all stared at her, open mouthed. Even Frank turned away from the television to stare at her. Mrs. Plum turned purple. Than she turned on me. "WHAT KIND OF A HUSBAND ARE YOU, LETTING HER TAKE OFF FOR A YEAR?"

I smiled. "The kind that's going with her."

If possible, her face turned more purple. She turned on Hector next. "WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT ABOUT JUAN?" Juan had also been to several dinners at the Plums'. He always managed to charm Mrs. Plum. Maybe we should have brought him with us tonight.

Hector smiled at her. "I'm going. Juan will visit us there, just as he visits us here."

Mrs. Plum actually stomped her feet. A strangled giggle escaped Steph. Hector's lips twitched. I choked down a laugh. Frank and Grandma were on the floor laughing. Mrs. Plum let out an inarticulate scream and bolted for the kitchen. Steph and Hector started to laugh. I caught Steph and pulled her to me as her knees buckled under the force of her laughter.

"Did. You. See. Her. Face?" She finally gasped out.

"It was PLUM!" Grandma chortled. For some reason, that made Frank laugh even harder.

Hector finally calmed down and headed for the kitchen to do damage control. I carefully let Steph – still laughing – slide onto the floor and followed Hector.

Mrs. Plum was crying. All of a sudden, I felt like shit. Hector had his arms around her, making the same soothing sounds he often used on Steph. Mrs. Plum looked at me through her tears. "What if she gets hurt again?"

Like mother, like daughter, I thought. Steph frequently masks her real fear with a lesser fear. "I'll take care of her, Mrs. Plum. So will Hector. She'll take care of us."

"What is this job?" Finally, a rational question.

"It's a security job. We're not chasing any skips. We're just going to be a deterrent." Better to avoid telling her the unvarnished truth.

Her tears slowed and she took a shaky breath. "How many of you are going? Where are you going?"

"We'll be right in Massachusetts. Including the three of us, there will be nine of us."

"Massachusetts? That's not very far away."

"No, it's not."

"Do you really think she'll come visit?"

I nod. "With Val and Lula both expecting? She'll be visiting."

"Did you really hire Joe Morelli?" Sometimes, she changes gears as fast as Steph does.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Why? He's a police officer."

As usual, she was blind to Morelli. For whatever the reason, he was the perfect man in her mind. I never tried to understand why she works so hard at blocking out any negativity about him. "He's left the police force."

For a moment, Mrs. Plum is quiet. "Is it because of Georgia?"

Once again, I am stunned by her knowledge – and the fact that she manages to ignore it. "Yes."

She nods slowly. "Are they happy?"

"I think so."

Another nod. "That's good."

With that, she gets up and calls everyone to dinner. Dessert is Steph's favorite: pineapple upside down cake. Mrs. Plum serves it to her with a smile.

When it's time to go, Mrs. Plum actually hugs Steph. I've never seen her do that before. As we turn to leave, I hear her whisper, "Be safe. All of you."


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday, enroute to Massachusetts…

Hector is driving the Navigator. Lester, Bobby, and Cal are riding with him. The others are packed into the Bronco. Steph and I are in my truck. Rex is in his aquarium on the floor behind her seat, hip deep in fresh shavings. She refused to leave him with her mother, her sister, Mary Lou, or Lula. Wouldn't even leave him at RangeMan.

Five minutes outside of Trenton, Steph begins to fidget. She can't sit still to save her life. Usually, her mouth starts shortly after the fidgeting.

I wait.

And wait.

She fidgets. She rolls the window down. Then up. Then down. Back up.

Finally, she looks over at me. "Can I put in one of my CDs?"

I had classical music playing. I find it easier to drive and think with the soothing background noise. I was already distracted, though, so I nodded. She heaves a sigh of relief and fishes a CD out of the travel case. A heavy bass line shakes the truck and she leans over and presses the button to skip that song. Thank God. Rap and hip-hop aren't my thing.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "Lula gave me this CD."

"It's okay, Babe. Whatever you want." As long as she sits still for a few minutes. It's not really the fidgeting that gets to me. It's her body. Stretching. Writhing. Her shirt tightening across her chest… It's _distracting. _I keep imagining her in bed with me. Under me. Over me. Beside me. _Around_ me.

Jesus. It's going to be a long drive if she doesn't sit still. I'm grateful that she's wearing jeans and not a skirt. If she had a skirt on, we'd never make the four hour drive without stopping somewhere. I'd never hear the end of it from the guys – or Steph.

I had thought – foolishly – that having her in my life and my bed permanently would ease some of the desire I feel for her. I thought the need would diminish with time, proximity, and being able to worship her body regularly. It hadn't. The constant intimacy intensified both the lust and the urgency, as did the knowledge that she's _mine._ I'm not complaining. I love my wife. I enjoy lusting after my wife. Making love with her. I thoroughly enjoy the way she makes me feel physically and emotionally.

Just not when we're trapped in a moving car for hours on end.

It's going to be a long drive.

Somewhere in New York…

Steph fell asleep right after we crossed the New York border. She had swapped out CDs several times, frequently skipping over tracks she knew I would hate. She and I just don't have the same taste in driving music. For her, though, I'll listen to anything.

I left the last CD she put in playing after she dozed off. It was one Lester had made for her. Usually, I could tolerate what he liked. Occasionally, he came up with something I actually enjoy hearing. One of the songs catches my attention and I restart the song, turning the sound up a little.

Feel your every heartbeat  
Feel you on these empty nights  
Calm the ache, stop the shakes  
You clear my mind   
You're my escape  
From this messed up place  
'Cause you let me forget  
You numb my pain

How can I tell you just all that you are  
What you do to me

You're better than drugs   
your love is like wine  
Feel you comin' on so fast  
Feel you comin' to get me high  
You're better than drugs  
Addicted for life  
Feel you comin' on so fast  
Feel you comin' on to get me high

Feel you when I'm restless  
Feel you when I cannot cope  
You're my addiction, my prescription, my antidote  
You kill the poison  
Ease the suffering  
Calm the rage when I'm afraid  
To feel again  
How can I tell you just all that you are   
What you do to me

Feel your every heartbeat  
Feel you on these empty nights  
You're the strength of my life

Feel your every heartbeat  
Feel you on these empty nights  
Feel your every heartbeat  
Feel you come to get me high

'Better Than Drugs,' by Skillett

I smiled. She really is better than any drug I did when I was young and stupid. With her, the highs are higher and the lows are negligible. There is no doubt in my mind that I am addicted to all that she is. I'd never admit it aloud, but she keeps me sane. I am aware that I am not an emotionally demonstrative man. I wonder, sometimes, if she has any concept of what she means to me.

I still have more muscle, but every day, she has more power. Over me. Over my men. Over the world around her. She has no idea of the power she wields. She could rule the world, if she wanted it. Being her, though, she's just happy to be able to live her life, her way. I can't imagine how her body holds a heart as big as hers.

We don't have a normal relationship. Hell, we don't even have a traditional marriage. We're polar opposites. We spend our days knee-deep in human garbage. We deal with the filthy underbelly of humanity regularly. She adopts half her skips. She mothers everyone. I keep myself separate from everyone but her, Tank, and Hector. I plan everything. She flies by the seat of her pants. When we call each other during the day, it's not about dinner or to ask what time the other will be home or just to say 'I love you.' She calls to make sure I haven't been shot. I call to make sure she's not in a dumpster.

Last fall, after her surgery, Hector crawled in bed with us. When Steph got up for ice cream that night, she settled into Lester's lap and went to sleep. There was no jealousy, just a deep feeling of comfort and security in the knowledge that I had successfully surrounded her with people who love and support her.

We have no real privacy. We live above my business offices. There are other apartments in the building. Ella is in and out to deliver food and clean. I'm technically available 24/7/365. She never complains when someone comes strolling in at three a.m. to tell me I'm needed on the control room floor or that I'm needed for a takedown immediately. Likewise, I don't complain when I come home to find her letting Eula have a shower before going to jail or having lunch with Mooner and Dougie while watching television.

We don't even wear wedding rings; we have dog tags.

We live a morally right but legally gray life. We rarely say 'I love you' aloud. I make sure she's armed when she leaves in the morning, but Hector makes sure her guns are actually loaded. We never fight over money. She never cooks. She never cleans. She never does laundry. For that matter, I don't do any of those things either. Ella takes care of us both. We don't have to deal with children because we have none – and we never will. We don't really own a home. Other than Rex, we have no pets. We just live and work and love each other without the daily annoyances that other couples deal with.

She calls me Batman. And she means it. I call her Wonder Woman. And she is.

She doesn't have fender benders. She blows up cars. When I get hurt at work, I come home with stab wounds or bullet holes.

I can't imagine any other couple living like we do.

My thoughts are interrupted by a thump from Steph's side of the truck. I look over and resist the urge to laugh. She's sliding sideways, her face plastered against the window. I need to pull over and rearrange her or else she'll wake up sore and stiff with the imprint of the door on her face. I pull out my cell and let Hector know I'm pulling over for a minute. I do, and he pulls up behind me. I get out and walk around to the passenger side. Hector meets me there with a pillow.

I look at him. "She falls asleep if we drive around for more than a half hour," he says, holding up the pillow.

I can't help it. I laugh. "She can sleep anywhere." Hector nods. He knows. Hell, my whole damned company knows.

I look at the door, trying to figure out how to get the door open without Steph falling out of the truck. "Watch," Hector tells me. He reaches over and releases the door latch, allowing the door to open only a few inches. He reaches in with his left arm and braces Steph before opening the door completely. Once the door is open, he pushes her up in the seat, then reclines it. He gently lifts her head and slides the pillow under it. He kisses her cheek and silently closes the door.

"Gotta remember that trick," Lester announces. I tear my eyes away from the truck and look around. The entire team is standing with me by the side of the road. "I'd have opened the door all the way and then caught her when she fell." Me, too, but I'm not about to admit it.

We stand for a few minutes, stretching and talking. It feels good to get out of the truck and move. Driving long distances in heavy traffic is stressful. It tightens your muscles, dulls your senses, and blurs your vision. Your ass falls asleep. At least it's not raining or snowing. I think back to the time I drove nine hours to get to her when she commandeered my apartment while the Slayers were hunting her. It poured most of the way home. Sane people pulled off the road. I kept going, desperate to get back to her. It had taken three days for the muscles on my shoulders to stop aching. It had been worth it, though, to get back and see her in my bed for the first time. Safe.

We get back on the road as soon as we can feel our asses again.

Three hours later…

The drive is taking longer than MapQuest and the GPS promised, largely because they didn't know a tractor trailer would block 91 Northbound south of Hartford, Connecticut. We've already spent an entire hour not moving. Like an infant, Steph woke up when the truck was still for too long.

"Where're we?" She mumbles, her eyes still closed.

"Little south of Hartford, Babe."

"I'm hungry." No surprise there. I reach behind my seat and pull out a bag. I hand it to Steph. Her eyes widen.

"Ella."

"I love Ella."

"I know, Babe." No need to tell her Ella loves her, too. Ella loves to make desserts. Steph loves to eat them. A match made in heaven.

Steph rummages through the bag and comes up with homemade brownies wrapped in Saran wrap, three Ziplocs filled with cookies, and a dozen assorted Tastykakes; she keeps all that.

She hands a single bag with fresh cut vegetables to me. Huh. Guess I know who Ella had on her mind when she packed the snacks for us.

Steph reaches over and opens the baggie for me. I glance at her and realize I can see right down her shirt. I snap my eyes back to the road and take a deep breath. She's killing me.

We're currently stuck in traffic. We'll be spending the next _year _living in very close proximity to seven other men. Every move she makes turns me on. Why? Because five minutes of privacy to make love with her is going to be a more valuable commodity than gold for too damned long. At least in Trenton, we can take off for the beach house when we need a break.

There is no beach house to run away to in Springfield.

I glance over at her again. She's got a blissful expression on her face as she licks frosting off her fingers. She slides a finger into her mouth to get the frosting off her knuckles. Her eyes are closed and her finger is wet when she pulls it out of her mouth.

Shit.

I force my eyes back to the road.

Springfield, at long last…

The house is pretty much right off the highway, as promised. It's huge. Still, it doesn't look big enough to hold twelve bedrooms. It's all lit up inside, and the garage – which will hold at least four vehicles - is open. I pull to the space furthest to the left. Hector and Ram pull into two of the other spaces.

Jemma opens the door to the house and we unload the trucks, temporarily dumping everything in the laundry room. Rex is installed in the sitting area between the dining room and a more formal looking seating area.

"Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. You should clean up. After dinner, I'll show you where everything is." Jemma points us in the direction of various bathrooms and we split up to wash for dinner.

In no time, we're sitting at a long table in the dining area. The kitchen, dining room, the formal and informal sitting areas are not divided by walls and the space is more or less open. The sections are marked by changes in décor and carpeting. It's a comfortable space, wide and high-ceilinged. The carpet is plush. There is a small bathroom with a shower stall between the kitchen and the laundry room. A formal entryway opens into the formal seating area. All in all, it's a nice place.

Steph and Hector are looking around and discussing the enhancements they will be making to the security system. Occasionally, one of the guys will add something. Mostly, though, the electronics are the territory of Steph & Hector. It's what they do.

It doesn't escape my notice that every dish Jemma serves is one of Steph's favorites. I assume she and Ella have spoken. My assumption becomes fact when pineapple upside down cake is served for dessert. I hide a smile as Steph tells Jemma it's her favorite.

With dinner done, Jemma shows us around the house. There are eight small bedrooms and a large library on the second floor. Every room on the second floor has built-ins: the bedrooms have closets and drawers, the library has shelves and cabinets. Steph and Hector decide the library will be our control room for the moment.

Back on the first floor, Jemma shows us a small servant's bed room tucked behind the laundry room that I missed when we came in.

Down a flight of stairs to the basement and we strike gold. At least for me.

A master suite. Thank you, God. A bedroom with a private bathroom and a tiny sitting room. A door that locks. Not a lot of privacy for newlyweds, but better than I expected. There are two more minute bedrooms down there and a large open room we can use as a gym.

We trudge back up to the first floor to deal with bed room assignments. The guys, using the silent communication that drives Steph so crazy, have chosen bedrooms on the second floor, leaving the master suite for Steph and me. Silently, I thank them. Knowing Steph, she'd have tried to let Hector move down there so he and Juan could have some privacy when he comes up to visit. Hector takes the servant's bed room on the first floor. It's actually smaller than the second floor bedrooms, but it will give him a little distance from the other guys, some of whom are still a little uncomfortable around Hector.

It's late by the time we finally get to bed. We have to be downtown for nine in the morning to meet with the business owners. Steph crawls into bed naked and I follow her. As always, I pull her close to me. As always, she wraps herself around me. She sighs and squeezes me. I hug her a little tighter.

"Okay, Babe?"

"Yeah."

She sighs again and rolls over. Then she turns back to me. She rolls onto her back. Then on to her stomach.

"Babe."

"What?"

"Problem?"

"No. Yes. I dunno."

"Babe."

"Can't sleep." That's one thing I've never heard her say before. She's slept through kidnappings, for Christ's sake.

"Nap too much for you?" Maybe I let her sleep too long this afternoon.

"No."

"You feel okay?" Maybe she's coming down with something.

"Yeah."

It's my turn to sigh. "What's wrong, Steph?"

"I can't sleep." No shit.

"Why?"

She sighs again. "Security," she mumbles.

"Pardon?" I'm sure I didn't hear her correctly.

"Security." No, I heard her right.

"What about it?"

"There's not enough here."

This from the woman who spent years living in an apartment that all of New Jersey broke into on a regular basis. "Not enough security," I repeat in disbelief.

"Right. There's no control room. There are no cameras. There's not a lobby with an armed Merry Man to get past. There's a bare-minimum system that's not even monitored. There's not enough security."

Oh. Silly me. Christ. "Babe. There are eight mercenaries in this house with you. Most are ex-military. At one point or another, we've all killed someone – even you." Actually, we've all killed at least two someones, including her. "We're all trained to fight. We sleep with one eye open. We're all armed. This house has more weapons than the Armory down the street ever had. We are spread over three floors. The alarm is set, so we'll have a nice loud warning if someone tries to break in. And you can't sleep because there's not enough security?"

"That, too."

I must have missed something. "That, too?"

"It's quiet. It's not our bed. There's no Ella. _All_ the guys aren't here. It just feels funny."

Frighteningly enough, I know exactly what she means. I pull her closer to me again and kiss her head. "I know, Babe." She throws her leg over mine again. "How can I make you feel better?"

She tilts her face to look up at me. I look her in the eyes and feel myself drowning in them, like I always do. "I dunno."

She shifts and rolls on top of me. "Something you want, Babe?"

I know damned well what she wants as she runs her hands up and down my body, kissing my chest. "Yeah. You."

Thank God for the master suite in the basement, I thought, as I rolled her under me, kissing her deeply and slowly.

I kissed her _everywhere._ Head to toe. Front and back. Her face. Her arms. Her fingers. _Everywhere._ And just when she began to get annoyed with me, I slid inside her and made her forget all about the lack of security.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday morning meeting…

The meeting will take place at a bar that is closed on Mondays. There will be a dozen or so people from the businesses who hired us, as well as two local cops. One is a vice detective. Seems to be a pattern of those in our work. The other is an undercover officer on the gang task force.

Everyone arrives a few minutes early, and by nine we're ready to go. The business people are a mixed bag: owners, bouncers, bar tenders, and managers. The gang task force guy reminds me a lot of Hector when I fished him out of the Jersey penal system. I like him. The vice detective - who didn't offer a name -looks like a sleazy seventies Disco Italian stereotype. Shirt unbuttoned too far, showing too much chest hair, head in need of an oil change, and sporting enough bling to give any rapper wet dreams. I don't like him. He creeps me out in much the same way Vinnie does. Added to his appearance and general attitude is the way he's looking at Steph: like she belongs barefoot in the kitchen, not wearing a suit at a business meeting.

I do my best to ignore him. It's fairly easy, since he doesn't say much. He just keeps staring at Steph while we look over crime statistics for the district. He continues to stare as we explain our armament and the patrol routes we tentatively planned. After the third time he snorts when Steph says something, she stops talking and looks at him.

She smiles. It's not her usual warm and friendly smile. This is a smile so cold the temperature in the room drops several degrees. It's a smile I've seen on her face less than a handful of times, and always right before she explodes. It's a smile of which I try very hard to never be on the receiving end. It's frigid.

"Is there a problem, _Detective_?" She manages to make the title sound like a dirty word, but her voice is pleasant and even.

"Yeah. Why're you here, Honey?"

"Pardon?" Her eyes have narrowed now. The guys automatically slide their chairs back to avoid being collateral damage. I lean forward to enjoy the show. The business people are looking a little nervous. The gang task force officer – Rodriguez – is grinning.

"You don't belong here, Girly. You shoulda stayed home with your hubby and brats."

Lester, Hector, and Cal stand up. I remain seated, but I have a hard time keeping my blank face on. I can't decide whether to laugh or not. I hope we have a good attorney available locally, I think as Steph leaves her chair. She leans forward, planting her fists on the table.

"I think you need to apologize, _Detective._" Her voice is hard and her eyes look like diamonds.

This is going to be fucking hysterical.

"For what? Tellin' the truth?"

"No. For being a sexist prick, _Detective_." Her voice is pleasant again.

The idiot actually laughs at her.

"Honey, I just think you should go home where you'll be safe."

"Home. To my husband."

"Yeah."

Steph turns to look at me and I shiver at the icy expression in her eyes. "Ranger. The man thinks I should go home to my husband."

I smile at her. From the corner of my eye, I see the detective nodding and smiling. He apparently thinks he's won. "So I heard. What do you think your husband would say to do?"

She flashes a warm smile at me. "I think he'd tell me to expand my horizons."

"Think you're right, _Babe._" I emphasize the nickname.

She turns back to Detective Duh. "My husband says I should stay, if for no other reason than to piss you off."

For a split second, his eyes flicker to me and I see doubt. Maybe a little fear. Apparently, he missed the fact that we're married.

"Lady, be reasonable. This is a rough job."

Now he's done it. Nothing like waving a red flag at a bull and being too damned dumb to get the fuck out of the way.

"I don't suppose you looked over our resumes." Lester makes it a statement.

"I looked over the resumes of you gentlemen. There's no point in lookin' over info on a secretary."

The boys move back a few more feet. Wisely, the business people follow them. So does Rodriguez. Smart move.

I can almost see the steam escaping Steph's ears. Her face has turned pink with anger. Her fists are clenched so tightly that her knuckles have gone white.

"Perhaps the _Detective_ should be more thorough." Cal puts the same inflection on 'detective' that Steph did.

This is getting interesting. Cal is very easy going, despite his appearance. He's getting angry, though. I look over my men. They're all getting pissed. A word from Steph and they'll pound this asshole into the ground, then pull him out and do it again.

Steph's eyes flash. "Perhaps he'd like a demonstration." Her voice is still pleasant. I'm impressed.

He looks her over insolently, from head to toe. He tips his chair back and crosses his arms. "Give it your best shot, Honey."

Steph moves faster than I thought she could. She launches herself at him, catching him in the jaw with a nice left hook. In a heartbeat, she has the detective pinned to the floor, a knife at his throat. Steph, in her prim little suit, is probably more heavily armed than the detective – and apparently better trained, too. Rodriguez is laughing out loud. So are the Merry Men. A few of the business people let out nervous giggles.

Briefly, I wonder where she learned that move. I look over at Hector and raise an eyebrow. He grins at me. Now I know who taught her that.

"Would you like my best shot now or later, _Detective?_" He grunts and tries to break her hold. When he does, the knife scrapes his neck and he freezes.

"Oh, looky. You got a boo-boo. You need a band-aid. Maybe the secretary will get you one." Cal's voice is icy calm, but his face says he's angry, now.

Hector walks over and lifts Steph off the detective. "You should let him up before he starts crying, _Hermana._"

He sets her down and she straightens her suit. She seats her self at the table again and continues what she was saying before the confrontation with the detective. When she finishes what she was saying, she looks over at Rodriguez. "Perhaps a different vice liaison would be good. This one" – she jerks her head at the still shaking detective – "seems to have a problem with his nerves."

Rodriguez nods and pulls out his cell to make a call. Cal and Lester help the detective leave. His threats to arrest her for assaulting an officer can be heard fading away as the boys get him out onto the street. We take a break while we wait for the new liaison to arrive. I lean over and whisper "Proud of you, Babe" in her ear. That earns me a sweet smile and a kiss.

Rodriguez comes over and apologizes for Detective Franklin. Apparently, his wife left him a few years back. Once their kids were grown, she returned to school. Once she had a good education, she left him. He's given women a hard time ever since. "If we had known your wife would actually be actively on the team, he'd never have been assigned," Rodriguez tells us.

"Will he actually try to arrest me?" Steph asks.

Rodriguez shrugs. "You never know with him. He may blow this off or take it as a personal affront."

Steph blows out a sigh. "Well, shit."

"Yeah." Rodriguez is still smiling over the incident as he answers Steph.

"No problem, Baby. I'll bail you out anytime!" Lester tells her, sounding a little too cheerful. Steph shoots him a dirty look that fails to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Good to know," she mutters.

The sound of the door opening catches our attention. Two people enter. One is a man. He's greeted by Rodriguez with easy familiarity. I'm guessing he's the new liaison.

The other person is a woman. She's not very tall – maybe five one or so – and she's slender, but moves in a way that suggests she's been a dancer or has trained in marital arts. Her hair is long, reaching her waist. It's pink streaked. Her eyebrow is pierced. When she takes off her leather jacket, I can see tattoos marching up and down her arms. On the inside of her right elbow is the same tattoo that Cal has on his head. It's all I can do not laugh out loud at the expression on Cal's face as he gets a good look at the tattoo.

Cal's eyes grow huge. A grin splits his face. Before the lady can say a word, Cal walks over to her and takes her arm in his hand. He rubs his thumb over her arm. "Nice ink." His voice is soft.

The woman looks up at him. She's a lot like Steph. Every feeling she has is written in her eyes. Her expression reflects her thoughts. All of her emotions are written on her face. I can tell the second she realizes they have matching tattoos. She looks up into Cal's eyes. Her gasp is audible across the room, as is his sharp intake of breath.

Much to the astonishment of everyone present, Cal gently pulls her into his arms and kisses her. Long, slow, and deep – the way I kiss Steph. Throughout the room, jaws drop.

A low whistle sounds.

"Holy shit…" Someone says softly.

"Wow," Steph whispers.

"I though she liked women." Another voice says.

"Get a room."

"Christ. It's real hot in here all of a sudden."

"Jesus…"

I clear my throat. Loudly. Several times. The kiss ends, but they don't leave each other's arms. They just stand there, staring at each other. The room is dead silent. Finally, Cal leans forward slightly and whispers something in her ear. She blushes and nods. He releases her but takes her hand. They sit down at the table, still holding hands.

They are totally oblivious to the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of the people around them. Even I cannot conjure up my blank face. I shake my head to clear it. I can't quite believe what I just saw. And I know I saw it; it wasn't a figment of my imagination. I can see my thoughts reflected on Steph's face when her eyes meet mine. A slight smile plays at the corners of her mouth and she winks at me. She reaches for the stack of papers in front of her and loudly shuffles and straightens them to get everyone's attention.

Slowly, the attention of the people gathered in the room focuses on Steph. "Good morning, Detective…?" Her voice trails off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He coughs. "Todd Sullivan."

The business people introduce themselves to the new detective. Steph goes around the room, introducing each team member. When Steph gets to Cal's new friend, she hesitates. "I'm sorry. I missed your name." I suppress a chuckle. She'd have had a hard time giving her name with Cal's tongue in her mouth. Steph's 'Burg manners are particularly useful in situations like this.

"Mica," the woman says. Her voice is husky. I don't know whether that's her natural tone or in response to the kiss Cal laid on her. Come to think of it, she's looking a little dazed. So is Cal.

Steph smiles. "Thank you for being here, Mica. Which business are you with?"

"I'm a bartender at _The_ _Salty Dog_." Steph nods. I wonder if she recalls that _The Salty Dog_ is one of the wildest bars in our territory. She glances my way and gives me a slight frown. She does remember.

We get on with the meeting. For the benefit of Detective Sullivan and Mica, we review the information we went over earlier. We tweak our patrol routes based on input from the locals. Once again, we explain our armament. Detective Sullivan looks impressed – and relieved.

"I was afraid you were going to be more like a group of trigger-happy vigilantes," he confesses.

Steph laughs. "I don't even like my gun," she admits. This earns her several smiles and a pat on the back from Hector.

Personally, I'm offended. "Has my company ever done anything in this area to make you feel as though we're a bunch of _trigger-happy vigilantes_?"

He shakes his head, looking a touch nervous. "We – I – had a bad experience with a PMC that was brought in to deal with a gang issue here. They arrived heavily armed and shot at everything– children, women, elderly, dogs, squirrels, cars... They failed to take care of the problem for which they were hired. They are the only company like yours I've dealt with. I've heard the name of your company. I've never heard anything about your company itself, though."

I nod. "I understand."

"I'd like to clarify a few things," the detective says.

"By all means."

He stands up and walks to the map we attached to the wall. He points at Worthington Street. "This is the main entertainment district. As I understand, you'll be covering this area" – he makes an invisible circle on the map with his finger – "in three teams of three people each." We all nod at him. "Your uniforms have been chosen to stand out." Again, we nod. "Is there any visible sign of what your purpose is?"

Steph nods. "The word _security_ is on the back of the uniform shirt in reflective silver lettering."

"That's a fairly large area. Will you be in cars?"

"No," I tell him. "We'll be on foot."

"Have you considered motorbikes?"

"No. Too much noise. Too fast. Too easy to miss something."

The detective grins at me. "I was hoping you'd say that."

We review the modified patrol routes. We go over the boundaries of the district we've been hired to cover. We learn about trouble spots and problem businesses. We make note of areas frequented by drug dealers, prostitutes, and gangs. We discuss the probability of bringing in a fourth team. As Sullivan said, it's a fairly large are to cover on foot. Three teams can do it, but four can do it more effectively.

No one questions Steph's abilities or inclusion. If anything, Sullivan seems to be pleased that there's a woman on the team. While we take a break, I ask him about it.

"There are a lot of ladies working at The 411 and The Mardi Gras who we suspect are involved in prostitution on the side. Obviously, they close ranks when cops are around. Twice, we got an undercover cop into each place. Twice, they were made and fired. Nothing about Mrs. Manoso says _cop_, so maybe she'll be able to get close to the girls and find out if the rumors are true."

"She can do it if she wants to. I advise you to ask her if she's willing, though."

"One of those stubborn ones, is she?" Detective Sullivan asks with a smile.

"You have no idea."

"That bad?"

I tilt my head noncommittally. I don't know this guy well enough to tell him about the stuff she manages to get herself into. "People like her. They trust her. They gravitate towards her. She has a way of making people spill their guts."

Sullivan grins. "One of those people who's a magnet for every nut job within a fifty mile radius?"

I grin back. "She is. Then she adopts half of them."

He laughs. "The motherly type?"

"No. The friendly puppy sort. Half of her skips go with her willingly. The other half try to kill her. Hector deals with the latter."

Sullivan looks at Steph speculatively. "So, she's unpredictable but totally relaible, loyal and dedicated. Trusting and trustworthy."

"Heart of gold. Hard head. She never backs down, and she never gives up."

"Must be hard to keep a handle on a woman like that," Sullivan says a little enviously.

I shake my head. "No point in trying. Make sure she's got solid backup. Let her fly."

Sullivan nods. "I understand. With your permission, I'll speak to her about getting close to the girls."

I smirk at him. "You don't need my permission. She's a big girl."

"Okay."

After the break, we split into two groups. One group sets about going over the problems in the area. Where there have been fights, stabbings, shootings, etc. Which corners have the highest volume of hookers. Where, specifically, do the dealers do the most business. Which incidents have been drug or gang related, and which ones have been fueled by alcohol and stupidity.

The other group, headed up by Steph, sets about detailing the businesses in the area. Which businesses are on board but not represented here today, which ones refused to become involved, which ones were unable to afford their part of the fee. She also gets specific information regarding bouncers and security at each place.

Before we break up the meeting, we announce that we'll spend the next week walking the area in plain clothes to familiarize ourselves with everything at street level. We distribute flyers to the business people with our contact information and names.

Steph and Hector ask about the best places to buy the electronics and computers they need for the house. Sullivan tells them where to go locally. He also warns us that Longhill Street, which runs more or less parallel to the street our house is on, is a rough place. Several known drug dealers live there, and the police are called there frequently for assaults, both armed and not.

We tell him we'll keep that in mind as the meeting breaks for the day. I decide to go with Hector and Steph to pick up the stuff they need. We pile into the Navigator and set the GPS, then head for the first place on their list.

It doesn't escape my notice that Cal leaves with Mica.

Before we can pull away, Sullivan appears at the passenger door to speak to Steph. She hears him out and tells him she'll do what she can. He informs her that he appreciates her consideration. Smart guy. Present it to her as an option, not an order.

Five hours later…

There's a reason I avoid shopping with Steph. She has to try everything on. Twice. Shopping for computers and electronics is no exception. Not only did she make all the sales people demonstrate how things worked, she also tried them out herself. Then Hector and I had to try them out.

In the end, the two of them bought a whole new security system, a camera system, motion sensor lights for both the outside and the inside of the house, two desktop computers, two laptops, networking equipment, a printer and a fax machine. By the time it was all said and done, my head was spinning.

It was a relief to get home.

The two of them set about installing their new treasures. Once it's all set up, Steph appears in the library doorway.

"What's up, Babe?"

"We need to set up the monitoring link to Trenton."

I frown. "I thought we were going to use the Boston office to monitor the system and cameras."

Steph just looks at me for a minute. I can see her mulling over what to say to me about the change. "I want Trenton to do it."

"Why?"

She shrugs and looks at the ground. "I don't know anybody in Boston."

"So?" What's the big deal, I wonder. She sighs. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Babe."

She throws her hands up. "So I want my guys watching over us!"

Her guys? "Your guys?"

Her hands settle onto her hips. "Yes. MY guys. The ones I know. The ones I like. The ones I trust. The ones who've been covering my ass since I met you."

I decide to give in. The link will be a little more complicated to set up, but it's worth it to keep her happy. "Okay. Call Hal. Have him get Silvio in on a conference call to make sure it's all set up right."

Relief floods her face. "Thank you," she says quietly.

I cross the room and pull her into my arms to kiss her. "No problem, Babe."

I release her and swat her butt as she moves towards the small bank of computers. An hour later, the guys in Trenton are once again covering her ass.


	6. Chapter 6

One month later…

We spent a week after the meeting walking the streets we were hired to protect. We got names, learned faces, took notes, photographed everything and everyone, and learned every inch of the area. Every building, every parking lot, every door, every window, every sign, every alley, every fire hydrant, every crack in the sidewalk – we memorized it all.

We found three strip joints we aren't being paid to cover, but which will definitely be a problem: _The 418 _(owned by the same guy that owns _The 411_, but apparently not worth protecting)_, The 5__th__ Alarm_, and _Teddy B's_. They all make _dive _sound promising. Steph and Sullivan had a discussion about watching prostitution at those places, too. The girls employed by those three places are primarily junkies, with a few pregnant women thrown in. Not nice places. At all. Even we heard rumors about what you can buy there.

Today was the end of our third week of actual work. Well, this morning, actually. We hit the streets around seven in the evening and left them at four in the morning five days a week, Wednesday through Sunday. Being mid spring, it's still cold in the evenings. The streets are fairly quiet, even Friday and Saturday nights. The warmer it gets, the more people will be out. Increased temperatures mean increased alcohol intake. The hotter it gets in the city, the hotter the tempers will get, fueled by alcohol and drugs. When it gets hot enough, we'll be out at five in the afternoon and stay there until four or five in the morning – whenever the people go home.

It's rained nonstop for the past week. The rain is not conducive to people going out to party; they stay home and get drunk. Then they fight with their spouses, roommates, children, relatives, and friends. That's called a _domestic _disturbance and it's not our problem. If it's still raining this hard when we're due back, we won't go. In fact, the streets won't see us again until the sky stops pissing on us.

I plan to take Steph out to dinner this evening. I figure she needs a break from work and the house. First, I have to get her out of bed, though. I stop in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Jemma hands it to me silently, that not-quite-a-smile on her face.

"Time to get Stephanie out of bed?" she asks.

"It is."

"Tell her I got her donuts."

"I will." Somehow, the fact that we've been here just about two weeks and Steph already has Jemma going out of her way to feed her all her favorite junk doesn't surprise me. Yesterday, we were out of Grapenuts, but we had six boxes of Tastykakes. It's not as though Steph _asks_ for special treatment. People just want to treat her well. Usually. Some of her skips aren't too fond of her, but I suspect that's more because she's returning them to the legal system than a personal dislike.

I walk down the stairs to the master suite. When I get to the bedroom door, I stop. For a minute, I just watch her sleep. She's sprawled on her stomach, taking up most of the bed, her face turned toward the door. Toward me.

I still have trouble believing that she's mine. That she chose me. Until she actually married me, some small part of my mind feared she'd go back to Morelli. She didn't. I still marvel that she stayed. Once I offered her an equal partnership, she settled _into _us. She didn't settle _for _us.

There's something about her that made me willing to change my whole life for her. I think if she'd said she wanted me to be a banker and have a dozen kids, I'd have done it. Of course, her unwillingness to change herself also makes her unwilling to change someone else. She wants acceptance; she gives it in return.

She's an amazing woman.

Steph finally teased Cal into telling her about Mica. Apparently, they met in a bar while he was in the Service, stationed in North Carolina. They hit it off and spent a lot of time together. They dated for several months, spending all of their free time together. They got the matching tattoos after they made love the first time.

Then Desert Storm happened. He was shipped to the Middle East without notice. They rousted his unit at 0300 hours. By 0400, they were in the air and on their way out of the United States. Cal didn't get to say goodbye. His unit's plane went down behind enemy lines. When they finally fought their way to the base where they belonged, he tried to call her. Her telephone had been disconnected. The letters he sent her were returned, marked simply 'Return to Sender.'

Cal never forgot her. When he returned stateside, he'd tried to find her. He'd been unsuccessful. All he'd been able to find out was that Mica had waited for him until her sister called to tell her that their parents had been killed. She'd gone home, leaving no forwarding address. No one who knew her in North Carolina knew where she'd come from. No one was able to tell Cal where she'd gone back to.

Since they found each other again in this Hellhole, they'd been fairly inseparable. Cal smiles all the time now, making him look less dangerous and more approachable. He is happy. So is Mica.

One by one, it seems as though my men are finding women as good for them as Steph is for me.

I stretch out on my side next to her on the bed. With one hand, I hold the coffee next to her nose. With the other, I rub her back. "Babe," I whisper.

"Ugh."

"Morning, Babe."

"'S mrng?"

"Afternoon."

"Ugh."

"Jemma's got donuts."

One eye opens. She sees the coffee cup and sniffs. "Coffee?"

"Babe."

She sits up and reaches for the mug in my hand. "Donuts?"

"Babe."

She rolls her eyes at me and gets out of bed, still clutching the coffee cup. She heads for the bathroom. I hear the shower running. Two minutes after it shuts off, she's rummaging through her drawers for something to wear. She pulls on under things, black sweats, and a RangeMan shirt. She pulls her hair up into a pony tail; it's getting long. It's past her shoulders and headed for the middle of her back. She looks surprised to see me still sitting on the bed.

"Wassamatter?"

"Waiting for you, Babe."

"Oh." She staggers up the stairs, with me trailing behind her. I like the view.

She drops into a chair at the table. Jemma slides a plate of donuts in front of her and refills her coffee cup. After the second coffee and third donut, she looks at Jemma and says, "I love you."

Jemma gives her the Mona Lisa look. Steph grins back at her.

"What are we doing today?" Steph asks me.

"I thought we'd run in Forest Park. Tonight I'll take you out for dinner, Babe."

"Just us?"

I nod. Her face lights up. It doesn't take her long to finish eating and be ready to go.

We walk to the park as a warm-up. Once we get to the park, we stretch. We make the first circuit around the park's common at a jog. It's a large area; there are two baseball diamonds, two soccer fields, a rose garden, a parking lot, a picnic area, a lawn bowling court and a zoo on the common. The next six circuits are made at a run. The final lap is made at a jog again.

After the eighth lap, we usually walk home. Today, I take Steph to the zoo.

It's not a large zoo, but it's beautiful and well-maintained. There aren't a lot of people here today, so we more or less have the quiet paths to ourselves. We wander from one display to the next, reading the placards on each fence or cage. Most of the animals are small. There are two black bears, though, dozing in the sun inside their enclosure.

As we round a corner, Steph stops dead, staring at a small wrought iron cage. "Look!" she gasps, pointing.

Inside the cage are small monkeys. One of them has a baby not much bigger than Rex clinging to its back. Steph stares, enthralled. I drop my arm over her shoulders and watch her watch the monkeys. Watching her is better than any television show or movie; everything I see on her face is real. The interest. The warmth. The amusement. The love. The enchantment.

We stand there for a good twenty minutes, watching the little monkey family. Finally, Steph turns to me, eyes shining. "I love them!"

I smile back at her. How can I not? "I know."

She rolls her eyes at me. "They're so funny."

"They are."

She sighs, a little wistfully. "That baby is too cute."

For a moment, I wonder if she's having regrets about having had her tubes tied. Sometimes, I see her watch her sister's kids the same way. "Okay, Babe?"

"Yeah." She sighs. "I'm just a little disappointed that I'm missing Lula's pregnancy." It doesn't escape my attention that she mentioned Lula but not her sister.

"You want to go visit her, Babe?" Do you want to be pregnant? is the question I leave unasked.

"Yeah. No. Maybe. I can't now…" Why would she not want to go? Is she jealous?

"Babe?"

"We can't go visit right now. It's too long a drive just for a one day visit."

"We can go. Babe. Next week?"

"Ranger…"

"Babe. Next week, or now?"

She looks at me, her whole face shining. Grinning. "Next week."

I hug her to me. When I let her go, she takes my hand and we begin the walk home. About half way there, I decide to ask her whether or not she has regrets. "Do you regret having the surgery?"

She stops dead and looks at me, surprise and confusion on her face. "No. Why?"

I silently heave a sigh of relief. "I thought you might."

"I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been sure, Ranger."

"Just checking."

"Why?"

"Lula and you sister are both pregnant. I thought you might be having regrets."

She laughs so hard she falls to her knees, letting go of my hand to clutch her stomach. Huh. I didn't think it was that funny. I try to pick her up, but she just sags against me, laughing hysterically. It's like trying to make a strand of spaghetti stand up. After a few minutes, she stops laughing mostly. Now she's gasping for air, with the occasional giggle escaping. I just smile at her. I love the way she laughs.

"Why would I want morning sickness, midnight wake up calls, breast feeding, dirty diapers, potty training when I have this? You. Us."

"Just asking, Babe."

She stops and collects herself for a minute. She looks me in the eye. "No regrets, Ranger."

Thank God. I kiss her forehead and hold out my hand to her. She takes my hand and we head home.

"Where are we going for dinner?" Steph never forgets an offer of food.

"A Touch of Garlic."

"What should I wear?" I should have known.

"Wear anything, Babe. It's casual."

"Fine." She stalks off to get dressed for dinner. Apparently, she didn't get the answer she wanted regarding the dress code.

Twenty minutes later, she's standing in the living room, dressed to go out to dinner. I think I'm drooling. I know Lester is. Her skirt actually reaches almost to her knees. It's skin tight and there's no way she's wearing panties. I don't think she could hide even a thong under that skirt. Her blue shirt is modestly cut, but in the right light, it's sheer. I can see the lace of her bra through the top. And _Christ_ those shoes….

My mouth feels like the desert all of a sudden. It's a damned good thing she and I will have the restaurant to ourselves tonight. If they were open for regular business, there's no doubt in my mind that she'd cause a riot in that outfit. At least I'll only have to fend off the chef.

Lester and Bobby whistle, long and low. I get off the couch and wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She looks up at me, her pleasure in my reaction showing on her face. She has eyes only for me. For the umpteenth time, I think about how lucky I am.

"Ready to go, Babe?"

A mischievous look dances across her face. "Always."

We walk out the door. At the truck door, she stops and looks at me sheepishly. "Uh…"

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling. Or worse, laughing. "No problem, Babe." I open the door to the truck and lift her up, setting her down on the seat. Without hiking her skirt up and flashing the boys, who are standing in the door way, waiting for the show.

I turn and give them a smirk before climbing into the driver's seat. I make sure to wave at them as we drive away.

Since it's Monday, the restaurant is, technically, closed. It helps when you find out that the owner is a friend of a friend, though. Then you can arrange for the restaurant to be open, and to have the chef as your personal cook for the evening.

Good thing Juan knows all the best cooks.

I easily find a place to park right in front of the restaurant. Steph peers out her window and squints her eyes. "Uh, Ranger. I think this place is closed."

"It is." She turns and looks at me like I have two heads. "Trust me." She nods and opens the door of the truck. I don't know why, but that's a magic phrase. As good as 'please,' 'together,' 'choice,' and 'your decision, Babe.' I say 'trust me' and she does.

I walk around to the passenger side and lift her out of the truck. Once again, I manage to keep her skirt where it belongs. We walk up to the door and I knock. I can see a single table in the center of the dining room illuminated with a dozen or so candles. When the door is opened, Steph looks up at me and smiles. "Juan?"

"Yes."

"Remind me to thank him."

"No problem, Babe."

The cook also acts as our waiter. Not unlike Shorty, he simply brings out Steph's favorites – and mine. For dessert, he presents Steph with a German chocolate cake.

Before she eats it, she looks at me. "Why did you do this?"

Because I love her. Because I needed to have her to myself tonight. "Thought you needed a night out."

She snorts. "We're out five nights a week, Ranger."

"Alone."

She smiles and shakes her head. "With you." I nod. She leans over and kisses me softly. "Thank you," she whispers.

"My pleasure," I whisper back.

Before we leave, I place an envelope on the table for the chef. Steph looks at me. "Tip," I tell her. She smirks at me. She's probably guessed that there's a couple of hundred dollars in it. The envelope actually holds five grand.

From the smile on Steph's face all evening, I think it was money well spent.

One week later, on the way to visit Lula…

"You rented a _helicopter?_"

"Sort of."

"How do you 'sort of' rent a helicopter?"

"Guy who owns it owes me." He owes me so much that he'll be our personal air service for as long as we're on this job.

Steph rolls her eyes at me. "Figures."

She leans over and looks out the window again. At least she's not fidgeting. The Chinook we're flying in is privately owned. I helped its owner liberate it from Russia when the Soviet Union collapsed. The government was selling the things for short money when that happened – to anyone except their own citizens. Since my friend was technically a Soviet citizen, he needed my assistance. It wasn't easy to extract this bucket of bolts from the military base where it was stored.

"Are we going to the airport?" she wants to know.

"RangeMan."

"I know. Where are we landing?"

"RangeMan."

Now she turns to look at me again. "How?"

"Roof." I had the landing pad installed when I bought the building. It's made life easier in emergency situations. Like when the government would give me twenty minutes notice that they needed me.

"Oh." She turns back to the window.

We land about an hour after we took off. Tank and Lula are waiting for us at the roof door. As soon as we touch down, Steph is unbuckling her seatbelt. I remind her to stay low when she gets out. She does, practically crawling until she's clear of the rotor blades. Then she runs to Lula and hugs her. When she releases Lula, she grabs Tank and hugs him, too. Both women are grinning.

I verify the pick up arrangements with the pilot before exiting the chopper. I hug Lula and shake Tank's hand. "How's married life treating you?" I ask Tank.

"Same as you." Steph and Lula laugh before disappearing through the door. I can hear their excited voices echoing in the stairwell.

I look at Tank. He looks happy, but a little worried as well. "What's wrong?"

"Lula."

Fuck. "She sick?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"She's having a tough pregnancy. They put her on a special diet. She's not happy."

I can see that. "Why?"

"She's almost forty, you know."

I didn't know I always assumed she and Steph were around the same age. "I didn't."

"She doesn't tell people. I didn't know until I saw her birth certificate when we applied for our marriage license." That makes me feel less stupid.

"Anything I can do?"

"Let Steph amuse her for the day so I can get some work done," he says with a grin.

"I'll help you." It's the best I can do. Help him do paperwork while Steph distracts and watches over Lula for him.

Steph and Lula spend most of our two days here together. We went to her parents' for dinner last night. It was a remarkably peaceful meal. I think her mother was too happy to see her to needle her about anything.

It probably helped that The Kloughns were there. Valerie spent the meal telling everyone about her pregnancy. I couldn't help but think of Lula, who is older than Val, and is having her first baby. Lula's second doctor's visit found both high blood sugar and high blood pressure. She'd been put on a special diet and advised to work less, as well as resting every afternoon after lunch. It's a testament to how much she wanted this baby that she actually obeyed the doctor's orders.

When it's time for us to get back on the chopper, Lula and Steph cling to each other, crying. I feel guilty and ask Steph if she wanted to stay longer. "No. We need to get back."

"Will it make you feel better if we come back once a month, Babe?"

She turns luminous eyes on me. "Oh, yeah…"

I reach out and take her hand in mine. "Go tell Lula."

Steph lets go of my hand and runs back to Lula, who looks at me over Steph's shoulder, her face relieved. I smile at her and mouth 'See you soon.'

Steph gets back in the chopper with streaks of tears on her face. She throws her arms around me and buries her face on my neck. "Thank you," she chokes out.

I put my hand under her chin and tilt her face up to mine. When she's looking me in the eye, I tell her, "My pleasure," and kiss her.

We wave at Tank and Lula as the chopper takes off, returning us to business.


	7. Chapter 7

_**WARNING WARNING WARNING **_**Graphic sexual content. You have been warned….**

_Mid July…_

We've been flying back to Trenton every three to four weeks. Last week, Lula was put on bed rest. She's not happy. I promised her and Steph that our visits will come every other week until she delivers. I plan on surprising them with weekly trips when Lula is within a month of her delivery date.

To entertain his wife, Tank gave Lula a laptop loaded with games and a web cam. I gave Steph a matching one. They chat with each other daily, and they can see each other, too. Steph is able to 'see' Lula's pregnancy, and Lula isn't bored or lonely while Tank works. The guys usually get in on their chats, too. Funny how fascinated by Lula's pregnancy they are. They were downright comical when she was showing Steph the ultrasound pictures, jostling and shoving each other out of the way so they could get a better look. Hector finally broadcast the images across the computer network in the house. The boys were sent to see the pictures on the nineteen inch monitors up in the library. When they finally went upstairs, I pulled Steph into my lap with her computer and we looked at the pictures together. The wonder on Steph's face made my heart skip a beat. Later, she confessed that she was stunned by the fact that she could actually tell it was a human baby. Apparently, when she looked at the ultrasound pictures of her nieces, they'd look liked blobs. I'd told her I'd had the same problem when I'd seen Julie's fetal pictures.

Things got quiet in the district we protect after the college students left. Well, until summer vacations began at least. The fourth of July passed relatively peacefully. Primarily, we've been pouring drunks into cabs and breaking up fights. We've turned in a few heavy hitters in the street level drug trade. So far, our presence seems to be the deterrent we were hired to be. A few of the businesses who had no interest in hiring us have suddenly changed their tune. They've signed on to have us cover them, too. While we have more businesses to cover, we don't actually have any additional territory to cover.

Steph has been making friends with the girls working at every strip club in our district – and a few that are just outside of it. Unsurprisingly, the prostitution is far more wide spread than Detective Sullivan assumed. It's _everywhere._ Even the respectable clubs have girls willing to do anything – for a price. Steph has been quietly amassing a list of girls – and the names of their pimps. Suspiciously, one of the names consistently making an appearance on the _pimp_ list is one of the business owners who had no interest in hiring us. Wonder why.

Tonight, though, the air feels different. There is an electricity on the streets. An almost visible current racing through the city. Somewhere, something's up. There is no doubt in my mind that it's headed our way. And, since Steph is on this job, it's probably going to hit us hard.

It's been quiet so far tonight. But, it's Friday and it's not quite midnight yet. There's more than enough time for things to go wrong.

I'm walking down Worthington Street with Steph and Hector. We see a couple next to a low-slung sports car. The woman is leaning against the side of the car, facing it, her arms resting on the roof. The man is behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She looks drunk. His hands are probably all that's keeping her on her feet. I wonder if she's going to throw up.

As we draw closer, I realize she _is_ drunk. I also notice that he's not holding her up to be kind. He's fucking her. Her skirt is hiked up around her waist. She's not wearing panties, and I doubt she had any on before this. She's very obviously braless. Remarkably enough, given her intoxicated state, she's very enthusiastically bucking against him while he pumps away.

He looks up and catches my eye. He takes her chin in his hand and turns her face toward us. She smiles and begins moaning loudly. Her bump-and-grind becomes more enthusiastic. His hands lift the hem of her shirt, exposing her breasts. His hands then settle on her chest, his fingers tweaking her nipples.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say they're exhibitionists.

Technically, what they're doing is illegal. However, they're obviously a couple. She's not dressed like the girls who charge by the hour or the act, nor do I recognize her as a stripper or as one of the street walkers. This is clearly consensual, so it's not a rape that should be stopped.

They're also outside _The Mardi Gras_, where the female employees are nude or scantily clad. No one passing by is about to complain. In fact, there's a group of people gathering, enjoying the free show.

They aren't hurting anyone. I decide to let them finish, unless someone complains. Or the police show up.

Finally, he comes with a shout. She follows him, screaming his name. Her skirt and shirt are pulled down. His pants are pulled up. They get into the car they were leaning on and pull away.

"Did they just do what I think they did?" Steph wants to know.

"Probably, Babe."

She leans toward me and whispers in my ear, "Is it bad that it turned me on?"

A flash of heat rushes through my body. "No, Babe," I whisper back. I told her once that I wasn't sure if I was sexually sick. I have always been a little kinky, and I thoroughly enjoy rough sex. I love it when Steph pulls my hair or bites me... "Do you want to try that?" I ask her in a soft whisper.

She looks thoughtful. "No."

I can't say I'm disappointed. I like having her - and her body - all to myself. I smile at her and we resume our patrol.

The rest of our time passes uneventfully. I feel relief flow through me as we return to the lot where we park. As we approach the lot, I can see a group of teenagers hanging around in a group. As we draw closer, I can hear raised voices. Obviously, they're having a disagreement about something. Given the way they're dressed, I'm going to guess it's over territory, drugs, or a girl.

We fan out and continue forward, hands hovering near weapons. The group splinters. Half run through the lot, stopping on the far side. The remaining half stays where they are. They continue to shout insults at each other. Just when we get to the lot, a flaming bottle flies through the air from the far side and lands in the soft sand next to Steph's feet.

She looks down. "Molotov Cocktail?" she asks.

"Yeah… _Move_, Babe!"

She looks at it again, then leans over and scoops up the unbroken bottle and hurls it back where it came from. Where it explodes. Under my truck.

Hector and I push her down to the ground, covering her with our bodies. The other guys go down, too. Multiple explosions rock the lot. I can feel the heat from the fire, as well as the shrapnel that's raining down on us.

When the explosions stop, we get up, slowly. Everyone checks themselves for injuries. When I'm sure everyone is uninjured, I turn my attention to the lot. Sure enough, my truck is burning. This reminds me f the time the Abruzzi's rabbit blew up my truck after I chose Steph's side.

I sigh.

Steph looks at me. Her cheeks are pink. "This is not my fault!" she insists.

Technically, it is. She threw the damned thing _back_, hitting the asphalt under my truck. Which caused the bottle to break open. Under the gas tank. Which was full. "Babe."

Her hands go to her hips. I smile at her and gather her into my arms. I'm grateful that she's unhurt. I could give a shit about the truck.

Red, white, and blue lights brighten the night around us. Sirens cut the air. The cavalry has arrived.

Regrettably, Detective Franklin is leading the way. He comes over to where we are waiting together. He asks about what happened. I tell him the whole story, with all the details – including Steph throwing the bottle back.

"She picked up a bottle of burning fuel and threw it back?" he asks, looking stunned. I can sympathize. She has that effect on people.

"She did," I confirm. Around us, the guys nod. None of them look surprised at all. In fact, Lester and Hector are grinning like mad.

"That was a nice toss, Baby," Lester informs her.

Her face turns purple and she develops a sudden interest in her shoes.

"She's a little Spitfire, isn't she?" Franklin is looking at Steph with respect. Apparently, being crazy enough to pick up a liquid bomb and return it to its sender is enough to earn even his approval.

"That she is," I agree. The guys are all looking from Steph to Franklin. Smiles are spreading across their faces. A few nod. I hear "_Spitfire"_ repeated several times.

I think she has a new nickname. And a new admirer.


	8. Chapter 8

**WARNING: This section contains a racially motivated verbal attack, with all the nasty words. Feel free to skip this section if you're offended by that kind of stupidity.**

Two days after Ranger's truck goes BOOM…

The good news: it's Monday. Our first day off.

The bad news: we have to buy another truck.

According to Rodriguez – the gang task force guy – we interrupted a spat over turf Saturday night. I suppose the fact that the pissing contest is between two local gangs as opposed to involving any national gangs is a blessing in disguise. Hopefully, they haven't heard about Steph and the Slayers.

Hopefully, the don't know who actually threw the bottle back. I'm not holding my breath on that one, though.

I decided that now would be a good time to arrange a fourth team. Yesterday, I arranged for three contract workers affiliated with the Boston office to be that team. They will be meeting us early this evening at home. Since they live locally, they won't need to move in with us. Since I'm not sure how Steph would take to adding three more men – strangers, no less – to our home, I specified that they must live close enough to commute. It wasn't a problem; we have people throughout every state in the union.

Over a late breakfast, it is decided that Hector and Lester will go truck shopping with Steph and me. It'll be easier to find what we want if we can fan out over the lots. Not to mention it's easier to keep pushy sales people at bay when there are three mercenaries – who look the part – involved in the buying process. Heavily armed, mean looking men dressed all in black are a great sales person repellant.

Of course, Steph will cancel out our repellant, being a beautiful woman.

Which means we'll have to deal with pushy sales people.

Steph and Hector hunt down the nearest Ford dealership and get directions to the lot. The one closest to us that looks like it will have what we want is in Wilbraham. In theory, it's a ten minute ride. Of course, once you factor in traffic, stop lights and/or signs, and pedestrians, it'll probably take us closer to a half hour.

When Steph is finally happy with her hair, we leave. Of course, once we get to the Navigator, there's a problem. Lester refuses to sit in the back seat. He wants to ride shotgun. Since I'm driving, I want Steph up front next to me. Hector could care less where he sits. Steph just wants to get going.

I finally solve the problem by giving Hector the keys and Lester the directions. I help Steph into the back seat and follow her in. For a minute, Hector just stares at the keys in his hand. Lester looks a little stunned. After he realizes that he's won, he turns a huge smile on Steph and me, then gets in the damned front passenger side.

At long last, we're on our way to Hell.

Hector manages to get us to the dealership in twenty minutes despite the traffic. I don't know why all the lights were green, but I'm not going to complain. I'm going to take it as a sign that shopping will go quickly and easily today.

Less than ten seconds after we get out of the Navigator, there are no less than four sales people headed our way. One each, I guess.

Sure enough, the sales people fan out, one heading for each of us. I can't honestly say it surprises me that the guy heading for Steph has a huge smile on his face wile the other three look as though they know they won't be making a sale.

Five minutes later, the three sales people who approached Hector, Lester, and me have returned to the air conditioned show room to sulk. Steph's guy is still following her around. While she politely replied to his greeting, she has done nothing to encourage his continued attention. The three of us have gone over the lot, looking for a truck. Steph has held her salesman at bay, looking bored. Annoyance is beginning to creep into her expression, though.

It doesn't take us long to figure out that they don't have what we want in stock. We head for Steph, who seems to be seriously considering decking the salesman.

"Babe." She turns to me, relieved. "No go."

"Okay. Let's go." She turns to us we get ready to walk away and move on to the next lot on our list.

"WAIT!" the salesman shrieks.

"WHY?" Steph shrieks back.

"I CAN GET YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT!"

Steph smirks at me, then turns to the salesman. "I want a black Ford F-150 crew cab. I want AC, power everything, leather seats, four wheel drive, automatic transmission, four doors, running boards, and bug lights. And I want it by five o'clock. Today."

The salesman is quiet for a minute, thinking. I hope. "I'm pretty sure I can get that from another lot. I can't get it here by five. But, if you're willing to go pick it up at another dealership, I can make this work."

Steph smiles at him. "Find me that truck and we'll talk."

The poor guy just about kills himself running back to the showroom to make his call. It'll be interesting to see if he can actually pull this off. I figure he'll be unable to locate what we want, then he'll try to sell us something else.

In order to avoid more shopping, I might buy something else. As long as it's black.

Twenty minutes later, he's still not back. I'm ready to leave. Or buy something else.

Just when I decide to look over the lot again before moving on, he comes flying out of the building, waving a sheaf of papers, red-faced and sweating. "I GOT IT!"

Holy shit. He's got a truck? I might be fucking impressed.

He skids to a halt in front of us, still waving the papers. He's panting so hard he has to stop and catch his breath before he can explain. "Greenfield." Pant. "Truck." Pant. Pant. "Special order." Gasp. "Never picked up." He goes back to panting and gasping, sliding the papers into Steph's outstretched hand.

Step looks over the faxed papers. She smiles and hands them over to me. Sure as shit, they have just what Steph ordered.

I _am_ fucking impressed.

I nod. "How do we do this?"

The salesman explains everything to us. He'll complete as much of the paperwork as possible here. Unless we want to screw around and wait for paperwork to go back and forth to Jersey, we'll need a local insurance company in order to register the truck in Massachusetts. He recommends an insurance company that has an office right off the highway on the way to Greenfield. He calls ahead so we can just walk in and sign what we need to sign. We'll pick up the rest of the paperwork at the Greenfield Dealership. From there, we can hit the registry in Greenfield. Once the new truck is legal, we'll pick it up.

I have to give this guy credit, he's been far more helpful than any other salesman I've ever dealt with. Especially as he won't be getting the commission for this truck. Technically, the other dealership is selling it to us. That means their sales person will get the commission.

While he's getting us directions to the insurance company, the dealership, and the registry, I go back the Navigator and extract five hundred dollars in cash from the wallet I hid under the seat. Whenever I have a long term job like this, I keep a few grand in emergence cash stashed in the vehicles we're using. While it's rarely needed, that habit has saved lives on more than one occasion. This time, it's simply going to be a generous thank you for the sales guy who worked hard for us, with nothing really in it for him.

When he hands me the directions, I shake his hand and deposit the bills in his hand. He opens his mouth to protest. I look him in the eye, silencing him. "You saved me a lot of aggravation, my man." He nods, looking surprised. He pockets the money without even looking to see how much I handed him. I hope he's pleasantly surprised when he finds more than five bucks.

Greenfield…

As promised, the insurance company was a couple of left turns off I-91 northbound. The insurance papers were ready to go. I signed the paperwork and wrote a check to cover the insurance premiums for a year. I asked them to fax the paperwork to the Trenton office so that the accountant can deal with the purchase.

The dealership in Greenfield is smaller than the one in Wilbraham. It's also a much more rural area. We passed a lot of farms and open land to get here. The sales people aren't nearly as helpful, either. We parked and got all the way into the showroom without being approached. My initial thought was that they were either short handed or very busy.

So now, we are standing in the showroom, looking for a sales person. How strange is that? I can see some people inside a glass-fronted office. Perhaps they don't know we're here?

Steph wanders over to look at a red Cobra. A sales man magically appears at her side. I don't approach. I stand back with Hector and Lester. For some reason, I'm getting a very negative feeling from this place.

Steph smiles and shakes the hand of the sales man. She's smiling. She gestures toward us as she speaks to him. He glances over at us, but turns right back to her. I can't say as I blame him. I'd rather look at her than us, too.

All of a sudden, her hands go to her hips. Her eyes narrow. I wish I could hear what they're saying. When Steph gets red in the face, we head over.

"Problem, Babe?" I'm talking to her, but looking at him. What did he say that upset her so badly?

"No. I'm not dealing with him, though." What the Hell? She stalks over to the glass office and yanks the door open. "Are there any human beings in here? She bellows.

I must confess, I'm confused now. Did he hit on her? That doesn't usually faze her. What the fuck did he say?

The sales man that pissed her off turns to me. "We don't deal with dirty spics here. Leave before I call the police!"

Ah. I'm used to prejudice. So are Hector and Lester. This, apparently, is Steph's first experience with it.

The sales people cowering in the office are just staring. Steph turns to the Mr. Racial Slurs. "Fuck you, you prick. Any one of them is worth a thousand of you any damned day of the week."

He actually rolls his eyes at her. She storms away from the office, back toward him. Lester catches her around the waist as she stomps by him. "It's okay, Spitfire."

"No, it is Goddamn well NOT OKAY."

The other sales people have left the office. They're hovering off o the side, watching the show.

"What's a nice white girl like you doing with wetback spics?" I almost – _almost­ – _pity the guy now.She's going to tear him apart.

Lester still has a hold of Steph when she lunges at guy. She nearly pulls him off balance, but he uses his weight to stay on his feet and keep her from assaulting the asshole.

"I'd rather have a dozen of them in a one room hovel than you in a hundred room mansion," she says quietly. Lester hugs her to him and releases her once her rage has died down a little. Steph takes one last look at the guy and spits on his shoes. "You're worth less than that," she tells him with finality.

She turns back to the other sales people. A pretty dark-skinned woman steps forward. "Thank you for doing what I always wanted to do to him," she says. "How may I help you?"

The woman's name is Jess. She's worked here for a month. Mr. White (now there's irony for you) has harassed her nonstop since she was hired. She is polite and friendly, getting the remaining paperwork assembled and sending a courier to the registry for us. She and Steph chat while we wait.

When the courier returns with the registration and number plates, Steph asks to speak with the owner. We have to wait another ten minutes while he drives in from his home. When he arrives, Steph steers him into the glass office. Five minutes later, she comes out smiling. The owner is right behind her. He is not smiling. Steph folds her arms and leans back on the Cobra.

The owner disappears into a room I hadn't noticed earlier due to the fireworks. He's in there for less than ten minutes. When he returns, he's holding a video tape in his hand. He walks over to the salesman that Steph had the altercation with. "Get out of my building. You're fired."

The sales man has the balls to look surprised. "Why? I was trying to protect your business interests."

"By insulting customers who pay cash for a brand new truck?" the owner asks, holding up the video tape.

The sales man's face turns red. "You're being unreasonable, _sir._"

"I don't think so. I've put up with a lot because your sales were good. I'm done now. Leave before _I_ call the police to have _you_ removed."

Aiming poisonous glares in our direction, the newly unemployed racist leaves, grumbling about fairness the whole time.

We watch him drive away. Steph turns to us, a dazzling smile on her face. "Let's go home."

We follow her out the door.

I pay another visit to my emergency cash wallet before we leave. I slip Jess a handful of cash when I shake her hand. I figure she deserves it after being forced to work with Mr. White for a month.


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks after buying the new truck, first week of August…

It hadn't looked like an ambush when we walked into it. It hadn't felt like one, either.

There was no current in the air. No feeling that something was going to go down. In fact, it had been quiet since my truck met with its demise.

Too quiet, apparently.

We had just reached the parking lot where my truck had blown up at the end of another slow night. Two weeks of slow nights. Nothing but fights and drunks. Mental notes of names for possible prostitutes, pimps, and drug dealers made. Not even any gang activity.

Even at four in the morning, it was hot and humid. The air was suffocating. It was hard to breathe. No one had enough energy to leave the air conditioning and hit the streets looking for trouble.

We were almost back to the vehicles when the shots rang out. Another minute and we all would have been inside the SUVs or the pickup. Five feet. One minute. A mile to cross in a lifetime.

Every one of us hits the ground, crawling for whatever cover we can find while we try to ascertain what direction the shots came from. I wish I could say that I was able to locate the shooter and take him or her out quickly. I wish I was able to say I was able to keep my team safe.

My team is shouting, giving orders to stop firing and drop weapons. Of course, since we are now pinned down, our assailants keep firing at us. We hesitate to return fire in fear of hitting an innocent bystander. Not that there are many out at this time of night, but we refuse to take that chance.

I hear Steph shouting over the boys. "Use the damned paintball guns!"

It's a good plan. Nine-millimeters are exchanged for paintball pistols. We begin firing in the directions the bullets were coming from. The shots headed in our direction slow down and I can hear coughing and choking coming from the shadows.

Thank God.

Thirty seconds goes by without a shot. We cautiously stand up and look around. The boys melt into the shadows in an attempt to collect as many of the shooters as possible. I pull out my cell to call our liaisons at the PD. This is the second assault on us in under a month, even though the first one was probably not aimed at us. Hopefully, the guys will round up some of the shooters and we can get some answers.

Detective Sullivan answers his cell on the third ring. He sounds like I woke him up. I explain the situation. He promises that he'll be here in a few, and he'll bring some of the boys in blue, provided they don't beat him here. He tells me he'll also call Rodriguez and get him headed in our direction to deal with the possible gang issue. I thank him and hang up.

One by one, my team filters back into the lot. I look over the boys they've got in steel bracelets. I'll bet not one of them is over twenty. They look like babies. Armed ones with a shitload of gang ink.

I look around. Hector and Steph are missing.

I double check, rescanning the lot, in case I missed them or they showed up after I checked an area.

No such luck.

"Steph!" I yell, praying for an answer. I don't get one. I pull out my radio and try to raise her or Hector. Neither replies. I pull out my cell and dial her number.

I can hear her phone ringing, very close. It stops ringing and kicks over to her voicemail. I hang up and redial, trying to locate her phone, which is hopefully attached to her.

I tell everyone to shut up and wait for the ringing to begin again. When I hear her phone, I walk toward the sound, which seems to be coming from behind a car. I feel sick to my stomach, terrified that she's dead. Ram follows me. Lester walks by my side.

The ringing stops again. I press redial. The ringing starts up again.

She's not on the other side of the car. Neither is Hector.

We follow the sound of her phone behind the dumpster in front of which the car is parked. For a minute, I'm back in Trenton, watching her park Big Blue next to the dumpster at her old apartment.

My stomach lurches and it's an effort to keep my feet moving. I feel Lester's hand on my back, gently urging me forward.

The ringing stops again. In the silence, I can hear our boots crunching against the gravel near the dumpster.

I take a deep breath before I walk around the dumpster. I am terrified of what I will find there. Lester squeezes my shoulder and steps in front of me. He doesn't want them to be hurt, either, but he's aware that losing her would crush me.

Lester sucks in a breath and curses. My heart falls.

"Ranger, get an ambulance. Hector's down," Lester barks at me. My heart stops. If Hector is the only one in need of an ambulance, Steph is either missing or…. _Gone._

It takes everything I have to walk behind that dumpster.

Steph is on her knees next to Hector, using both hands to apply pressure to the right side of his chest. My heart starts beating again. Lester is down on the ground next to her, his hands covering hers, helping her hold pressure. She's sobbing.

I kneel behind her and wrap one arm around her. I use the other one to pull out my cell and call for an ambulance.

I am beyond relieved. I feel giddy. She's here. She's safe.

Once I have requested an ambulance, I call Sullivan back to let him know we have a man down. I keep my arm around my wife.

I can hear the sirens long before I see the lights. PD is first on scene. An ambulance pulls up a few minutes later. Hector is loaded into the back with an IV and a monitor attached to him. The ground where he had lain is littered with discarded wrappers from bandages.

The police are asking questions, both of us and of the boys wearing our hardware. One by one, our metal cuffs are traded for plastic FlexCuffs and their wearers are loaded into the backseats of waiting cruisers. We will be pressing assault charges on top of whatever state and federal charges they are facing.

Steph is swaying on her feet. Lester scoops her up and gets into the passenger side of my truck with her cradled in his lap. I continue answering questions. My cell vibrates against my hip and I pull it out absently and answer it. "Yo."

"Your wife says she just needs a band aid, but she's dripping blood all over me and the seats in your new truck."

Once again, all the air leaves my lungs. "How bad?"

"Don't know, but she's getting drowsy. Could be shock, adrenaline crash, or blood loss. Pick one."

Shit. Shit. Shit. My stomach starts rolling again. "On my way."

I turn to the officers with whom I have been speaking. "Where did they take my man, and how do I get there? Fast."

"Baystate. Easiest way is right up Main Street and then turn right just before the cable company, but there's a lot of traffic. You can get up on 91 North and take exit 10, then just go straight until you run into the hospital. We're not quite done, though, sir…"

"We are now. My wife was shot, too."

The cop's face goes white. "I'll get another ambulance."

I shake my head. "She's already in my truck, ready to go."

I turn to walk away when I hear Franklin's voice ring out behind me. "We'll give the Spitfire a lights and sirens escort, Ranger."

"Thanks!" I call over my shoulder.

When I get to the truck, Steph's eyes are closed, her head resting on Lester's shoulder. He has one hand on her leg and the other on her wrist, monitoring her pulse. "Let's move, Ranger. The faster the better."

"We're getting an escort from PD. That should make it a real fast trip."

"Good," he grunts at me.

We make it to the ER in under ten minutes with a cruiser in front of us and another behind. Lester hands Steph off to me and runs in ahead of us to let them know she's coming. The two cruisers park and four cops plus Franklin follow me through the doors. A nurse is waiting to take Steph from me. I can't let her go. I look at the nurse and she shakes her head.

"Follow me. You get in our way, I'll have security drag you out." I nod and follow her. She points to a bed and pulls the privacy curtains. I begin cutting Steph's pants off so the nurse can see the damage. "How many times is she hit?"

"Just the one, I think."

"You think?"

"I didn't see her get shot."

"Oh."

The nurse starts an IV while I cut off Steph's shirt. I return to holding pressure until she's ready to put on a temporary bandage. Once that's done, the nurse begins the business of getting Steph under a blanket and checking her vitals. She's firing questions at me. She wants information about Steph's age, weight, medical history, allergies, relationship to me and how long ago she was actually shot. Without thinking, I ask, "Which time?"

The nurse looks at me like I've got two heads. "_This time!"_

I look at my watch. "Thirty-eight minutes."

She rolls her eyes at me and leaves the cubicle.

I step to the head of the bed and lean over. I kiss Steph's forehead and whisper that I love her. She doesn't respond. My stomach does another u-turn and I wish I had the case of Maalox Morelli sent me after I married her.

The nurse returns with a doctor, who begins the business of checking Steph out and asking all the same questions the nurse just asked. "Any connection to the Hispanic guy we just sent into surgery?" the doc wants to know.

"My employee. Her partner."

"And you are…?"

"Ranger. Her husband. I own the company they both work for."

"I see."

It feels as though it takes him forever to poke and prod her. My impatience is building. "I'm responsible for both of them," I finally say softly.

The doctor nods. "He's in surgery. The bullet hit the right side of his chest. He's got a collapsed lung and internal bleeding. The bullet is lodged in his back. It's far enough from his spine to safely remove it. Providing there are no complications, he'll be out of surgery and in recovery in a couple of hours. I'm going to do some x-rays and an MRI on your wife before I stitch her leg. They'll both be admitted for a few days."

I nod. "It would be best to put them in a room together."

"Mr. Manoso, this is a hospital. Men and women have _separate_ rooms here."

I shrug. "Hector is gay. My guys will be traipsing around the halls between both of their rooms as well as taking guard duty. When she wakes up, she's going to want to see Hector."

The doc turns pale, which is quite an accomplishment since his complexion is darker than mine. "Those men in the waiting room wearing army uniforms…"

I smile. "Mine. Not to mention the ones that will be coming up from Trenton when they hear about this."

"Right I'll make arrangements for them to share a room."

"Thank you."

He leaves the room. A few minutes later, a tech comes in with a portable x-ray machine and takes pictures of her leg. He's gone in under ten minutes. A half-hour after she leaves, an orderly comes to collect Steph for her MRI. He kicks the brakes on the bed to release them. He smiles at me and says, "I hear you'll be comin' along with us. Ya wanna walk, ride, or drive?"

I find myself smiling back and telling him I'll walk by my wife's side. He nods at me and starts whistling, the smile never leaving his face. We walk through the ER and down a hall, then through a few sets of doors. He drops us off in the MRI department and helps me move Steph onto the machine's bed and arranging her to the tech's specifications. He leaves, still whistling.

The tech invites me to sit with her in the control booth. I kiss Steph's forehead and follow the woman, taking the seat she indicates. The whole process takes nearly an hour, with Steph's body being rearranged a few times.

A different orderly returns us to the ER, where Steph's leg is stitched up and put into a cast.

"Why the cast?"

"She got shot twice in that leg. Once in the thigh – that's the one that bled so much. The MRI showed a second hole, much smaller, just above her kneecap. We'd like her to keep that leg nice and still until it heals up."

That's going to go over well, I think. "When will she wake up?" Right this second, that's stressing me out more than anything.

"When we stop the sedatives we've been giving her. Probably in the morning."

"It is morning."

"How about lunch time?" he snaps at me. I decide it's time to shut up.

It's another hour before Steph and Hector are settled into a semi-private room in the Centennial wing. The guys manage to squeeze into the room. Lester pulls me into the hall.

"I called Tank and Hal. Hal and Heather are on their way up. They're stopping in New York to pick up Juan on the way. I called him, too," Lester tells me.

A block lifts off my chest. I'd been dreading making those calls. "Thanks. Any ETA?"

Lester shakes his head. "No. But Lula said – and I quote – 'What da fuck, Batman? What you be doin' lettin' Steph git shot?'"

I figured that would be coming. The more upset Lula gets, the more ghetto her language becomes. She's furious. I sigh and rub my hands over my face. "Thanks. I think."

He smirks. He claps me on the back and we return to our vigil.


	10. Chapter 10

_Six Hours Later…_

Steph and Hector are still sleeping. Lester and Cal have been keeping the rest of us fed and in coffee. Mica is standing by at The 99 Restaurant – which Steph and Hector _love_ – so she can get their favorite foods for them as soon as they are awake. Somehow, I don't think either of them will want hospital food.

An hour or so ago, much to my surprise, Sullivan, Franklin and Rodriguez turned up with a sea of uniformed officers we've run into since we've been here. They've camped out with my guys in the hall, taking turns with guard duty and sleeping on a bed in the hall. Periodically, someone pokes his or her head into the room for an update.

I'm floored. They all worked overtime last night, cleaning up the mess. Now they're here, giving up time off to sit with people they barely know, watching over a man and woman they barely know.

But then, Steph has that effect on people.

My cell phone vibrates against my hip. I leave the room, passing by Steph's fan club in the hall, all of whom want to know if she's awake. I shake my head and hold up my 'phone. They turn away from me, disappointed.

I flip open my 'phone once I reach the designated area for using cell 'phones. "Yo."

"WHAT HAPPENED!?!" Mrs. Plum shrieks into my ear. I guess _someone_ called her. _Someone_ is going to die, I decide. Just as soon as I figure out who it is.

"She's fine, Mrs. Plum. She's sleeping right now."

"HOW CAN YOU SAY SHE'S FINE?" Oh, yeah. _Someone_ is most definitely _dead_.

"She is." I've learned to keep answers to Mrs. Plum as short as possible. Any attempt at a long answer will be drowned out by her next question or demand. It's far less stressful to simply give bare minimum answers.

"SHE GOT SHOT! SHE IS NOT FINE!" She sort of has a point there.

"The bullet went right through." No need to mention that she got shot twice. Or that whole cast thing.

"RIGHT THROUGH WHAT?" Valid question.

"Her leg."

"Is it broken?" At last, her volume button.

"No." No point in bringing up the cast here, either.

"Why is she sleeping?"

"It was a long night." Really long.

"Tell her to call me when she wakes up!" Click. I guess she's done with her interrogation.

I make my way back to the room. Hal, Heather and Juan have arrived. Juan has tears running down his face as he looks at Hector lying in the hospital bed. Heather is patting his back, making soothing noises.

I explain what happened, their treatment thus far, and relay everything the doc has said during his visits. Juan heaves a sigh of relief and falls into the chair next to Hector's bed. Heather turns and heads out to the nurses' station for more information. Hal flops down in the chair next to Steph's bed. I just look at him.

"Call Lula. She's frantic. Tank had to bring her to the office so he could work."

I nod and leave the room to make the call. Lula's cell or the Trenton office? I decide to just call the office, since I know everyone will want an update. I dial and wait for someone to answer.

"RangeMan."

"Tank." I hear him heave a sigh of relief.

" 'Bout time."

"Busy."

"I'm putting you on speaker. I know how much you like to talk." I hear the phone click over to the speaker function.

"Well?" Lula's still in the office, apparently.

"Aren't you on bed rest?" I tease her.

"I was until you an' Hector dropped the ball!"

I sigh. "I'm sorry." What else could I possibly say? It was my fault. My fault.

"You better be! Now you tell Lula jus' what happen!"

I tell. In graphic, guilty detail. I update Lula and the guys in Trenton regarding the physical condition and prognosis for both Steph and Hector. I tell them about Steph's cast. As expected, Lula chuckles over that piece of information.

"She know she gotta cast yet?" Lula demands, snickering.

"No," I confess. "She's still sleeping off the meds and the blood loss."

Lula laughs at me. Loudly. "She ain't goin' be happy 'bout that."

No shit. "I know."

"You need me to come up an' help you?"

Please God, no. "I think we're good for now, Lula. We need you to take care of RangeMan's baby."

"'Scuse me, but it's MY baby." I hear Tank protesting in the background. "Okay, so it's MY baby and TANK'S baby."

"But you're part of our family."

I hear Lula sniffling. I must have said the wrong thing. "THANK YOU!" she sobs. I can hear the sounds of her sobs quiet as she moves away from the microphone. I guess those are happy tears. Maybe.

"Thanks a lot Ranger," Tank grumps at me. "Now I gotta go calm her down."

"No problem. Did you call Mrs. Plum?"

"Uhhh…"

"That's what I thought. Have a nice day, Tank. Buy tissues."

He grunts and disconnects the call. On one hand, I feel bad about making Lula cry. On the other hand, Tank deserved some misery today. Of course, I recall that Rachel cried over every little thing when she was pregnant with Julie. Val cries over everything, too. Must be a hormonal thing. I shiver, grateful once again the Steph doesn't want kids.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" I can hear Steph's shriek all the way down the hall, even though the door to the room is closed. "GODDAMN IT! RANGER!"

I run down the hall to the room, mostly in an effort to save the nurses and the guys from her wrath.

I open the door and step in. "Problem, Babe?"

I get Steph's patented Death Glare. "You know damned well there is!"

I nod gravely. "You're right. My wife and her partner were both shot. That _is_ a problem." I give her my nicest smile.

She gives me her dirtiest look. "This _cast_ is the problem," she informs me, waving her hand at the black plaster encasing her leg.

"It's not forever."

"How long?" she asks, her teeth clenched.

"Six weeks or so."

"_SIX. FUCKING. WEEKS?" _

Lester pats her shoulder. "He didn't let them put on white. We thought you'd rather have some color. And black goes with everything!"

She turns The Glare on Lester. He drops his arm and jumps back a few feet. "How am I supposed to work like this?"

"You get a nice, paid vacation, Babe." The Glare is turned back on me.

"How are we supposed to fulfill this contract? You're going to be down two people!"

"Hal can fill in for one of you while Heather takes care of you guys."

"What about Trenton? How is Tank supposed to run the Trenton office without Hal? What about Lula? And you're still short a person!"

My head starts to hurt. I hold up my hand. "One thing at a time." She nods. "Tank has plenty of experienced guys in Trenton to help him. If Lula goes early or needs to be hospitalized, Hal can go back. Lula will need to hear from you. She's worried. I'll call Boston, if I have to."

"How am I supposed to go to the bathroom?" she asks in a small voice.

Lester grins. "No problem, Doll. I'll get you a bedpan!"

Her eyes narrow. "Lester, come here." Still grinning, the fool actually goes to her. She opens her arms. He moves in to wrap her in a hug. She smacks him in the head. Hard. He looks a little dazed. "NO BEDPAN!"

"No bedpan," he agrees, nodding and backing away.

I call the nurse, who brings crutches and follows Steph to the bathroom with the IV pole. A few minutes later, the nurse returns without Steph, looking nervous. For a split second, I wonder if Steph has run away.

"Uh… Mr. Manoso?" She's looking at me, but it's still a question. I stand up and nod. "Um. Ah… Mrs. Manoso feels dizzy and refuses a wheelchair, another nurse, or an aide."

I smile. Typical Steph. "Lester." Steph will not want me to pick her up and carry her. At least, not while she's in a backless hospital gown with no panties, which I had ended up cut off along with her cargo pants. I figure it'll be easier for two of us to help her back to bed in an upright position. Not to mention safer for me. And Lester. He and I head for the bathroom, the nurse hot on our heels.

I knock softly on the bathroom door. I hear Steph moan in response. "Babe. I'm coming in." I motion to Lester to stay outside the door. I open the door just enough to slip into the bathroom. Luckily, it's a private one. Steph is seated on the toilet, hanging on to the safety rail for dear life, her leg sticking out in front of her. She opens her eyes and then moans, turning a little green. "Babe?"

"I should have used the fucking bedpan." Her eyes have closed again.

"You want me to carry you?" I figured I should offer.

"Fuck no." She gave me the answer I was expecting.

"How about if Lester and I walk you back?"

"Both of you?"

"Yes."

"Like crutches with legs?"

"Crutches with legs _and_ arms to hold you up, Babe."

"Okay."

I open the door and pull Lester in. "Right or left?" I ask him.

He looks at me for a minute, then at Steph, still clinging to the safety bar. "No way am I taking the side with the cast. I'll take the left."

We get her up and back to bed without flashing the world or banging the cast on anything. Steph settles back into bed with a sigh of relief.

"You okay, _Chica_?" Hector's voice is rough and groggy.

"I am now. Bit of advice, though. Take the bedpan."

"Huh?" Hector sounds confused. I can't blame him; he had way more meds than Steph.

"The bedpan. You want the bedpan. Not the walk to the bathroom."

"Okay." He still sounds confused, but looks as though he's dozing off again.

Juan smiles indulgently at both of them, looking relieved. "They'll both be fine," he announces softly.

I nod. "They will," I agree.

Cal calls Mica with Steph's order for a bacon and cheese steak burger with no onions and extra fries. Hector doesn't want anything yet. Mica promises to deliver it in a half hour or so.

Lester opens the door and kicks the door stop into place. He leans out. "They both woke up. Hector is sleeping again, but Steph is mostly awake."

The parade begins. In groups of two, the people who have been waiting in the hall for news begin popping in and out of the room to see for themselves that Steph and Hector are really going to be okay.

Rodriguez, Sullivan, and Franklin come in together. They linger by Steph's side, talking to her. Steph voices her concerns about coverage with Hector and her down, and only one replacement currently available in Hal.

Rodriguez shrugs. "No problem," he tells her. "We gotcha covered."

Steph stares at him, mouth hanging open. So do I. "What?" she asks.

He smiles. "We got day shift uniforms from a different district who are willing to cover you, Hector, and Ranger as long as necessary."

Tears well in her eyes. I sit down on the edge of her bed and take her hand in mine. She looks up at me. "Why the tears, Babe?" I ask softly.

"I don't know!" she sobs. Right then, I decide to take a week off from patrols to stay with her.

I kiss her face. "No tears, Babe. Everything's fine."

We spend the next hour or so working out details and updating schedules. Telephone calls are made. Heather returns to notify us that Steph will be released in twenty-four hours, provided there are no complications. Hector can go home in forty-eight to seventy-two hours, provided his condition doesn't change for the worse.

"And there's some kid in the hall for Steph," she adds, looking at me.

I make sure that she's looking me in the face. "Send him in." Heather turns to go get the kid.

A small, nervous Hispanic kid enters the room. He looks to be thirteen or fourteen, but his size could be deceptive. His eyes dart wildly around the room. He's sweating. He stands just inside the door for over a minute, looking for all the world like he's going to run if anyone looks at him cross-eyed. He's very obviously terrified. By us, maybe. But by something else, too. I watch him, trying to watch us.

"Come on in and sit down," Steph's voice is calm, soothing. I heard her use that tone with Holly and Jacob last year, and once with Mary Alice after she fell down the stairs at The Plum's.

The boy's eyes still as he focuses on Steph struggling to sit up in bed. I still her struggles with my hand. I press the button to raise the head of the bed. Lester and I each grab her under an arm and carefully slide her up in the bed until she's sitting comfortably.

The boy cautiously approaches her bed. He doesn't look away from her. She pats the bed beside her. He perches on the edge, very careful not to jostle her. My opinion of him goes up several notches.

"I… I saw who shot you," he whispers, still looking at Steph. His whisper is hoarse, like it's an effort for him to get the words out.

Steph nods gravely. "Can you tell me who did it?" she asks, equally softly.

Tears roll down the boy's cheeks. He shakes his head. "I can't!" This time, his whisper sounds tortured.

Steph looks at him for a moment, then her eyes narrow a touch. "I can keep your family safe," she promises.

His eyes snap up to meet hers. "How…?"

"If you had nothing to lose, you'd be with them."

"My sisters. They're so little. Mama's been gone for months. I can't keep them safe…" Steph opens her arms to the boy. He throws himself at her, sobbing out his fear and anguish into her stomach. I can only hear fragments of what he is saying. Steph gently strokes his back, patiently waiting for him to finish. Twenty minutes later, his thin body begins to relax. His sobs quiet.

"What is your name?" Steph asks.

"Angel Jesus Lopez."

"I'm Stephanie Michelle Manoso. This is my husband, Ranger. The gentleman in the bed next to mine is Hector. That's Juan, his life partner." Angel raises his head, looking embarrassed. He ducks his head and says hello to everyone. He apologizes for his outburst. Steph tells him not to worry. She tells him some of the things that have happened to her since she became a bounty hunter. When she is done with her tales, he is smiling and calm. "Tell us how we can help you, Angel."

He gulps. "I have two small sisters. I need to keep them safe. I was warned that if I told anyone what I saw, _El Rey_ would hurt them, " he finishes miserably.

"Where are then right now?" Steph wants to know.

"I hid them on the roof of our building."

"Why the roof?" I want to know.

For the first time, the boy looks at me. "The roof is bad. It will not hold anyone heavier than my sisters. It will not even hold me," he finishes.

I've got to hand it to the kid, it was a good choice to make in a jam. The girls would temporarily be safe. I tell him so. He flushes slightly, looking proud.

Steph holds up her hand for a minute. I know that her mind is working at the speed of light and she's asking for silence to think and plan.

She looks at Lester and starts barking orders. "Lester. Take Heather, Mica and Cal. Use the F-150 and the Navigator. Go with Angel. Get the girls and all of their stuff. Angel's, too. Take the three kids and all of their stuff to our house. Get them settled into two of the empty rooms." She pauses for a moment. "I think we have tow empty rooms. If not, use our room. Get Jemma to get a big dinner ready. Make sure that Angel gets a tour of the house and the security systems. Call Trenton about the monitoring setup if he wants. Tomorrow, we'll worry about everything else."

As usual, everyone snaps shit and runs to do her bidding. I swear to God, it's funny as Hell to watch everyone trip over themselves and each other to follow her orders.

She settles back into the pillows. "We'll talk when you're happy with the security arrangements, Angel."

Once again, he pitches himself into her arms. "Thank you!"

She pats his back and tells him he's welcome. Lester collects two sets of keys and tosses the Navigator's to Cal. "Let's go." He places a hand on the back of Angel's neck. Next to Lester, the boy looks even smaller.

"Angel." He turns to me. "How old are you and your sisters?" I ask.

He straightens under the weight of Lester's hand. "Bella is four. Anna is seven. I am fifteen in two weeks."

I smile at him. He's older than I had thought. The girls, younger. They leave.

Steph turns on the detectives. "Find out where Mama has gone off to. And find out why those three kids were left alone like that. And if Social Services finds out about this, there will be Hell to pay." And Steph will be Hell, no doubt.

Once the room has emptied and things have quieted down again, Hector calls her name softly. She looks over at him. "I wish I had known someone like you at his age, _Chica_."

Steph looks him in the eye. "Then you wouldn't be you, my friend." Hector's eyes close, and he drifts off, smiling and holding Juan's hand.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," I whisper in her ear before I kiss her.

Her blue eyes meet mine. As always, I feel the pleasant sensation of drowning in them. "If we can't find a responsible family member to care for those kids, I'm keeping them. They're going back to Trenton with us when this job is over."

For a split second, I see doubt and fear in her eyes. I smile. I'll do anything to make her happy. If adopting three kids is going to make her happy, then I'm doing it. "No problem, Babe."


	11. Chapter 11

One Week After The Shooting… 

Steph and Hector are home. It's getting a little crowded, but I'm not complaining. Hal and Heather are sharing a room. Juan is in with Hector. The three kids, however, are on portable cots in our bedroom. By my count, we still have one empty room. It's a small room for three kids, though. I guess.

I miss having privacy. I miss having my wife all to myself. Mostly, though, I'm grateful that she's safe.

I'd be more grateful if I could get ten minutes alone with her.

I try to tell myself that it'll be easier when Heather and Hal return to Trenton in a few weeks. At least the cops who've been subbing on our team have their own homes.

I sigh and pick my way through sleeping children. The two girls, as usual, are on the same cot. Angel's cot is between them and the door. He was very particular about that.

We have been unable to locate any relatives. Their mother is dead. No one told them. She was taken away in an ambulance after she was stabbed for her welfare money. Apparently, it never occurred to anyone – including the welfare agency – to check on the children. Angel had been supporting them by stealing and dealing for three months. When they were evicted from their apartment, he moved them into an abandoned building. He continued to keep them fed and clothed by stealing the wallets of drunks in the entertainment district. Because of his size, agility, and skin color, he was practically invisible in the shadows.

Steph hadn't pushed him about the identity of the shooter. I think she was too tired at first, and now she's waiting to see if he comes to her. I, however, am most anxious to find out the name of the shooter…. Mostly so I can get to him first. I have great plans for making him suffer. He'll pay for shooting my wife and her best friend.

It's late, but Steph's eyes are open when I slip into bed with her. "Hey," she whispers, smiling.

I kiss her, long and slow. "Hey," I whisper back. "Do you need pain meds?" I put my foot down on the narcotic pain meds they had wanted to give her at the hospital. I remember all too clearly what happened last time. In they end, they sent her home with a prescription for Motrin 800.

When she catches her breath, she shakes her head. "I just took a pill half an hour ago."

"Why are you still awake?" Not that I'm complaining, but she's been worn out the past few days. The cast is heavy, and she hates the crutches. She spends all day trying to make the kids feel safe and keeping them entertained. We don't want Angel outside where he might be seen, and Angel doesn't want the girls outside where they might be seen. Jemma has been bringing a new art project every day. Today she brought special gel pens that show up on a black background. The three kids spent the day decorating Steph's cast. Blockbuster knows me by name – and the worst of it is, they know I'm coming for Disney movies. It's annoying.

"What did Albert say?"

I'm late coming to bed tonight because I've been on the telephone with Albert for three hours. We're trying to make arrangements for Steph and I to legally adopt the kids without involving Social Services. We want to disrupt their lives as little as possible. Placing them in the hands of DSS – however temporarily – fails to strike me as non-disruptive.

As always, we live a morally right but legally gray life. This will be no different.

"He's working on it. We might have to simply pick them up and do this in Trenton." I would rather do this legally, but if it comes down to it, the well being of the kids is far more important than any law.

She sighs and snuggles into my side as best as she can with the cast. "I hope he fixes this soon. I don't like having it hang over their heads."

"I don't either. Albert says he'll come up here if he finds it will be easier."

She nods. "He's going to have to stay in a hotel if he brings Val and the girls. We're out of room at the inn."

I chuckle. "You got that right."

I pull her close and we drift off to sleep.

Three a. m. … 

Bella is sitting on my chest, sucking her thumb. Anna is standing by the bed, staring at us. "What's wrong, guys?"

"Bella can't sleep," Anna informs me.

I nudge Steph. "Babe."

"Ugh."

"Bella can't sleep."

"Ugh."

"Babe?"

"I'm up." Steph sits up and looks at me, then at Bella sitting on my chest. She lifts the blankets wordlessly. In a heartbeat, both girls are snuggled into our bed, between us. In another heartbeat, both are asleep.

Steph's hand reaches for mine on the pillow above the heads of the sleeping girls. "They'll be fine now, Ranger."

I know she's right. They've done this every night since I brought Steph home. Every night, I wake her, unsure of what to do. What if I lift the blankets for them the way she does and they run away from me? What if I scare them? What if I accidentally knock Bella off my chest when I lift the covers? I don't recall worrying like this why Julie was little. But then, I was gone all the time. By the time she was Bella's age, Rachel and I had separated and were getting a divorce.

I smile as Bella's small arm lands on my stomach when she rolls over. Her face is pressed into my ribcage. I worry about whether or not she can breathe.

"She's fine, Batman. Go back to sleep." How did she know what I was worrying about? I lift my head and look at Steph. I can barely see the grin she flashes at me in the darkness. I put my head back down, smiling myself.

For a few minutes, I lay in the darkness just listening to Steph and the girls breathe. Angel is too far away for me to hear, but I know he's there and I imagine that I can hear him, too. It's a soothing sound.

Finally, I do what my wife told me to do and I go back to sleep, feeling peaceful.

Eight a. m. … 

At six, I had carefully disentangled myself from the girls and crawled out of bed without waking them. I went for a run, then showered and had breakfast.

At seven, Angel appeared, clean and hungry.

At eight, Jemma sets down a second plate of donuts in front of Angel and tells me to get Steph up before all the donuts are gone. "I only got four dozen!"

Four dozen donuts? Who eats four dozen donuts? Apparently, we do. Well, I don't. But Steph, the kids, the guys, Jemma, Heather… Okay, so I can see how forty-eight donuts might barely be enough for fifteen people. Well, sixteen if you count me, but I don't eat donuts.

I look down at my plate. So maybe I ate a plain donut.

"You've eaten one every day since you got Steph home from the hospital. Now go wake her up." Jemma rolls her eyes at me. Angel grins. I've been eating donuts? I look back down at my plate. I've been eating donuts.

I get off the stool and go downstairs to get the girls.

Between six and now, Steph ended up between the girls. Anna is sleeping next to Steph, their heads on the same pillow. All I can see of Bella on the other side of Steph are her feet. For a minute, I am struck by the scene before me. The Lopez children are light skinned Hispanics. Their skin is the shade of _café con leche_ as Hector's and Lester's skin. Lighter than me by several shades, darker than Steph by just as many. It strikes me that Julie's skin is about the same color. Had Steph and I wanted children of our own, I imagine that they would have had the same skin tone as the Lopez children and Julie. I shake my head. An idea starts to form in my head about how to adopt the children without Social Services. It's a morally right but legally gray move. I file it away for my next conversation with Albert.

I turn my thoughts back to the donuts waiting upstairs. I can't get to Steph without waking the girls. Besides, I don't want them to miss out on donuts. "Babe," I call softly.

No response.

"Babe." A little louder this time.

No response.

"DONUTS."

Magic. The three of them fly out of bed. The little ones continue up the stairs. Steph reaches for her crutches. I scoop her up into my arms and grab the crutches. "Wanna lift, Babe?"

She smiles up at me. "I'd love one."

I carry her up the stairs and deposit her on the couch. She can't manage the stools at the breakfast bar with the cast, and she doesn't like to sit at the dining room table alone. Here on the couch, she's right in the center of things and still comfortable.

Jemma brings her a tray with donuts and coffee. As usual, this makes Steph grin and tell Jemma she loves her. She's got Anna and Bella doing the same thing. If they were related, it would be cute. Since they're not, it's a little scary.

Slowly, the guys filter in along with Heather and Juan. Last night was a work night, so most everyone slept in. Jemma distributes donuts, coffee, bacon and eggs to each person as they appear.

The house seems awfully crowded, suddenly. It dawns on me that the cops and detectives have been filtering in and out at odd times during the day. Right now, I see Franklin, Sullivan, Rodriguez, and the half dozen uniforms that have been subbing for us in the room. At least two of them brought more donuts; I see a couple of Dunkin' Donuts boxes and an assortment of Big Y bags and boxes. At least Jemma won't have to worry about running out of donuts any more today, I think.

I shake my head. I used to be a primarily solitary person in my private life. Since Steph moved into my life permanently, though, that was no longer possible. People are drawn to her. They like to simply spend time in her presence. I can't honestly say I blame them. I'll do anything to bask in her attention, too. No matter how big or demanding the crowed gets, she has a way of making you feel like you're the only one who matters to her. I smile at her. Right now, Franklin and one of the uniforms are sitting with her, along with Cal, Zero and Heather. She's making sure that they all have some of her attention and that Heather doesn't miss anything simply because she can't hear what's going on.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the sound of Steph's cell ringing. I pick it up off the counter and hand it to her without looking at it. She smiles up at me and thanks me. She distractedly flips the 'phone open and answers it. Silence descends on the room.

"Yo." I love it when she does that. "What? OMIGOD!" She jumps up. That doesn't work so well for her with the cast. Cal grabs her as she starts to tip over. She never misses a beat. "We're on our way." She's reaching for her crutches even as she flips her cell closed. "C'mon. We gotta go. Lula's been admitted to the hospital.

Lester calls for the chopper. Heather promises to watch over Rex. The uniforms agree to work with us for a little longer. I look at Angel. "I need you to make a decision."

The boy gulps and nods. "Okay."

"With us or here?"

He thinks. He looks over at his sisters, who are clinging to Steph, clearly a little frightened. "With you." His voice is firm.

"Pack them up," I order him. He turns and goes downstairs to pack bags for his sisters and himself. Truth be told, everything they have will fit in the three duffle bags they came here with. I have no doubts that he will pack everything they own out of habit.

Forty-five minutes later, we're in the air.

Fifteen minutes after takeoff, both girls are asleep in their seats. Angel is looking out the window, a troubled expression on his face. He turns to Steph. "Why haven't you asked me who shot you?"

She meets his gaze and replies, "You'll tell me when you feel safe."

He looks down at the floor. "We'll never be safe in Springfield. They'll find us."

"You're not in Springfield any longer. If you want, you don't have to go back. I can make arrangements for you to stay in Trenton. I can guarantee your safety and theirs." Steph gestures at the sleeping girls.

Angel's eyes rest on Bella and Anna. His eyes are filled with tears. "Where will you hide them?"

"Either with my sister and her family or in the RangeMan building." She doesn't look at me for permission; she knows I'll do whatever she wants.

Angel's eyes don't leave his sister's. "Why would you hide them with your family?"

"I would hide you with Valerie and Albert because they already have three girls. Val is pregnant again. They're good parents. They'd take good care of you all."

"Why would you hide them in the RangeMan building?"

"Security. It's more secure than the Pentagon or the White House. Cameras. Alarms. Armed guards. There is no place safer. I hid from a violent gang in that building. No one gets in or out without someone knowing. No one gets in if they're unwanted."

Angel nods and looks out the window. The expression on his face says he's thinking. Hard. "I want them kept in the RangeMan building. They'll need supervision if I'm not there."

"Done," Steph says.

Angel drags his eyes away from the window. They fall on the girls. Then he looks at me. "Diego Martinez. They call him _El Rey._ He scares everyone, and he's killed whole families to keep one person quiet. He runs the biggest local gang, _Guarda de la Muerte._"

Thank you, Angel. "I'll keep you all safe. I promise." The boy nods at me and looks back to the window, leaning his head on the glass.

"Thank you, " Steph says softly.

Half way to Trenton, all three kids are asleep. I pull out my cell and call Lester, giving him the information that Angel gifted us with. He agrees to pass it on to the police. He fails to promise that he won't kill the guy first. I don't make any real attempt to extract that promise from him.

Trenton… 

Albert is waiting for us with Morelli and Georgia. They meet us just inside the roof door. Albert and Ella are going to stay with the Lopez children while we go to the hospital. Morelli takes the duffle bags from Angel. Georgia takes a sleepy Bella from me. Anna is hanging on Angel's leg. Albert holds out his hand to Angel and introduces himself. Angel warily responds to him. Anna inexplicably transfers herself from Angel's leg to Albert's. Ella hustles everyone down to the basement. Georgia decides to stay with the children also.

Steph and I follow Morelli out to the garage where an Explorer is waiting. I hand Steph into the back seat and put her crutches on the floor. Then I climb in next to her. Morelli gets behind the wheel and drives us to Trenton General.

Steph looks at me. "It's too early, Ranger. She's still got two months to go." Her voice is strained.

I pick up her hand and squeeze it. "She and her baby will have the best chance modern medicine can give them, Babe. I promise you."

She closes her eyes and rests her head on my shoulder. "Thank you."

Morelli drops us off at the main door, promising he'll come back and get us when we're ready. We head to the elevator for our ride up to Maternity. Steph jabs the elevator button several times. "Babe."

"_What?"_

I shake my head. "Won't help."

She stomps her good foot in frustration. "Stupid elevator."

I suppress a laugh. Usually, she'll wait three hours for an elevator. The one time she'd rather race up the stairs and she can't. Just as I'm about to offer to carry her up the stairs, the elevator doors open. She hurries in - with me right behind her – and proceeds to jab the floor button repeatedly.

I chuckle and shake my head. "Babe."

She rolls her eyes at me and pokes the button one more time. "Ranger."

The doors finally close and the car begins its ascent to the Maternity floor.

Two hours later… 

We've been standing outside Lula's room for twenty minutes now. We were sitting with her and Tank until the doc announced he was unable to stop the labor and wanted to discuss options with the parents. Steph had leaned over and hugged Lula, only keeping her balance because I had my arm around her middle. She had whispered something to Lula before standing up and kissing Tank's cheek. I kissed Lula and squeezed Tank's arm before I followed her out into the hall.

Steph doesn't wait well. She refuses to leave the hall to sit in the waiting room. She won't sit on the floor. She won't even stand quietly by my side. Instead, she's doing her best to pace on crutches. A few of the other patients' family members have given her dirty looks, as have staff members. A look from me stopped that. I'm leaning against the wall, my arms crossed, watching her. After the third time she narrowly misses someone's foot with her crutches, I decide it's time to quiet her down. Or, try, at least.

"Babe," I call softly. She turns back toward me and returns to my side.

"What?" she snaps.

"Didn't you get Lula a baby gift?" I know it's in her purse. She's had it there for almost two weeks. We were supposed to come back for a visit a few days after Steph and Hector got shot. Needless to say, we hadn't made it. As she hasn't used her purse since, I know the fluffy bear clad in black spandex is still there.

Distracted at last, Steph drops awkwardly to the floor to rummage through her purse. The whole floor heaves a sigh of relief that the uneven clang-stomp of her pacing has stopped. Even if it's only for a few minutes.

In a frighteningly short period of time, she pulls the bear out of the bottomless pit she calls a handbag. I carried backpacks through the desert in the military that held less than her purse.

She begins to struggle to her feet. I lean down and lift her up, setting her on her feet and leaning her on the wall while I pick up her crutches. She holds up the bear triumphantly. "I found it!"

"I see that." I pull her close and kiss her. Anything to distract her a little longer. She melts into my arms, leaning on me. I allow myself to deepen the kiss. When I finally pull back, she's hanging onto my arms and looking very dazed. If I drop my arms, she'll fall. I don't let her go. I see a nurse down the hall staring at us and fanning herself. Oops. I guess that went on a little longer than it should have. I surreptitiously check our clothing to make sure it's all where it should be. And that all buttons, zippers, and snaps are closed. They are. I mentally heave a sigh of relief. It's easy to get carried away with her.

Just as Steph's eyes are beginning to focus again, Lula's door opens and the doctor tells us that Tank and Lula would like us to go back in. I lift Steph up and carry her in. No point in trying to make her walk when she can't even stand. Besides… Carrying her will hide the evidence of what kissing her does to me. At least, I hope it will. As soon as we're in the room, I settle into a chair by the bed with Steph in my lap. Tank is sitting on the bed with Lula leaning back on him.

"They're going to do a C-section," Lula says softly. Tank's hands move to her shoulders, massaging them.

"It's best for Lula and the baby," Tank tells us. "Less stress."

I look at him. He looks tired. There are lines around his eyes and his mouth is a thin line. Not good signs. I know him well enough to know he's in a blind panic right now. While I try to think of a way to calm him, Steph starts talking. "I'm all for less stress. And, hey, no labor and delivery! Do you know where you get stitches with a normal delivery?" Steph shudders. So does Lula. Tank looks a little confused.

"Where?" he asks.

Steph's jaw drops. I stifle a chuckle. Lula laughs. "Down _there_," Lula informs him. "Someplace no woman wants stitches."

Tank's eyes widen as his faces loses color and he looks down at Lula's lap. "Ulp," is his only response.

Steph laughs. "No stitches there this time, Tank," Steph reassures him.

He looks relieved and his color comes back. He closes his eyes for a minute and shakes his head. "Thank God."

"So when are you going into the OR, Lula?" I ask, trying to give Tank a moment to regain his composure.

"In a few minutes. When I'm done."

Steph looks at her, confused. "Done with what?"

Lula looks up at Tank. He nods and squeezes her shoulders. "When I'm done asking if you and Ranger will be Godparents."

Steph's eyes are shiny with tears. "Oh, yes, Lula. Of course."

Lula looks at me. "It would be an honor," I tell her.

She and Tank beam at us. Again, I notice how tired he looks. Both of them, actually. "One more thing, Girl."

"What, Lula?"

"I need your permission for something."

"For what?"

"I'm havin' a lil' baby girl. I wanna give her a real special name. Name that means somethin'. A strong name. A name dat give her de bes' chance." As always, the more emotional Lula is, the worse her grammar becomes.

"Why would you need my permission for a name?" Steph sounds totally lost. Tank catches my eye over his wife's head. In a flash, I know what Lula wants Steph's permission for.

"'Cause I wanna give her your name. Sorta."

"_What?" _

"I wanna name her Michelle Stephanie."

Steph heaves out a sob. "You want to name your baby after _me_?"

"Don't know anybody stronger." Lula looks upset, like she might have offended Steph.

"Lula wouldn't be here if you hadn't helped her, Babydoll. We wouldn't be together if you hadn't been such a good friend and supported her. You're loyal to your friends. You're a strong woman. You're a good person. We'd be proud to have a daughter just like you, Babydoll." When Tank speaks, people listen. Steph is listening to him now, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body shaking.

"I would be floored if you named your daughter after me, Lula. You have permission to name her anything you want."

Lula sniffs. "Thank you." She presses the call button for the nurse.

When Lula is wheeled out of the room, Tank is by her side. We're told to wait where we are. As the door swings shut behind them, Steph's silent tears turn into loud sobs and she buries her face in my neck. I wrap my arms tightly around her and hang on to this amazing woman for all I'm worth.

_Hours later…_

Steph cried herself to sleep in my arms. She didn't wake up a few minutes ago when an orderly opened the door to the room and propped it open.

She didn't wake up when Lula's bed was rolled back into the room with Lula sleeping in it.

She didn't wake up when Tank walked into the room.

She didn't wake up when the nurse rolled a hospital crib into the room.

She woke up when I kissed her and rubbed her arm. Blinking, she looks around the room, jumping when she realizes that Tank and Lula are back. I set her on her feet so she doesn't kill herself trying to get up off my lap. She looks at Tank, who gestures to the crib. Steph leans over and peers into the crib. A blinding smile covers her face.

"Ranger, look…"

I get up and join her at the crib. It holds a whole, perfect, beautiful baby girl. A big, healthy looking one. I look at Tank in confusion. This baby does not look premature. At all.

"Lula was further along than anyone thought," he tells me, a grin splitting his face.

"They couldn't tell?" I wonder aloud.

Tank shakes his head, grinning like a fool. "Lula's a big woman," he says proudly. "The baby looked so tiny inside her, and she carried real low."

I laugh out loud in sheer joy. "How'd Lula do?"

Pride suffuses Tank's face. "Like a pro."

"How'd you do?"

"I didn't pass out!"

Steph looks up at Tank. "Nice job, Big Guy."

Tank blushes. I think.

"How is she?" Lula sounds groggy.

"Oh, Lula, she's perfect!" Steph tells her.

Tears trickle down Lula's cheeks.


	12. Chapter 12

One week after the birth of Michelle Stephanie…

Tank took Lula and the baby home the day before yesterday. They were settled comfortably at home. Being a first-time mother at forty, Lula has her hands full taking care of the baby. Tank had worried that she would make herself sick with exhaustion. We had spoken, and now Georgia was cooking their meals and taking care of the cleaning for them. I had told Georgia that all she needed to worry about was Tank's family, but she insisted on keeping up with her regular duties in the RangeMan apartment building. I quietly gave her a raise that she won't know about until her next paycheck.

Nothing has been settled with the Lopez children yet. Right now, they're staying in the two bedroom basement apartment. Angel refused to move into the seventh floor. When Steph tried to move us down there with them, he politely but firmly moved her back upstairs.

When Steph leaves with the girls and Woody to go shopping, I take him aside and ask him if there is a problem. After all, they'd stayed in our room in Springfield.

"You're married."

"We've been married."

"Married people need time together."

I looked at him and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "We have time together."

He _does_ roll his eyes. "You need time _alone_ together."

Shit. I had been hoping no one would notice. "She's in a cast for another month."

He looks at me. "So?"

I cannot believe I am having this discussion with a teenager. "So what?"

Again with the eye roll. "So be creative."

"_What?"_ I ask, flabbergasted.

"You know."

I do know. My imagination has been running wild for two solid weeks. Oh, my God, do I know… I decide to backtrack for safety. "There's no reason you can't stay upstairs with us."

"Look. There's not enough space upstairs or down here for us _all_ to have a little privacy."

Oh. Okay. That I can understand. I think. I nod. "How about a house?"

"A house?" Disbelief.

"How big would a house have to be for everyone to have privacy?" I can't believe we are having this conversation.

"You can't buy a house for us."

"My accountant has been telling me I need one for tax purposes." No point in telling the kid my accountant has been telling me that for five years.

"So buy a house."

"I will," I say, exasperated now. "But you know Steph is going to want to be available to help you with the girls. And legally, we will need to be living together."

"Oh." For a minute, he looks lost.

"I know you've been on your own for a long time. Let us help you. Let her help you."

His eyes fill with tears. Shit. How does this always happen to me? How do I always make people cry? "Okay." His voice is hoarse.

"How big does the house need to be for you to be comfortable and for Steph to feel like she's helping?"

He looks at me, perplexed. "I don't know. What do you think?"

I don't know, either. "Let's go to my office. I have a program that analyzes blueprints for security coverage requirements. Maybe we can use it."

He gives me a relieved smile and we head to my office.

Three hours later…

"Yo."

"Problem." Lester.

"What?" If Lester says there's a problem, there's a _problem._

"_El Rey_ has gone to ground. The street is claiming he's gone to Jersey after an Hispanic man and his wife, who apparently stole something of his, which he wants back."

Fuck. "Fuck."

"Yup."

I think for a minute. I need my best people here. "Call Boston. Call the detectives and the cops who've been subbing. Make sure the contract is covered. Leave Zero there for now. He can reorganize and delegate, then I'll get the chopper to bring him back. Pack everyone else up and come home. Try to get Jemma to come back with you. We're going to need her."

"Consider it done. See you tomorrow. Anything else?"

He sounds a little too happy about packing up and coming home. "Les?"

"Yeah?"

"Have Jemma pack Steph's things."

"Damn. I was looking forward to seeing the new Victoria's Secret lingerie line…"

"Too bad." I disconnect and turn back to Angel, who has been fooling with the computer and taking notes on blueprints while I was on the 'phone. "We need to talk."

The boy looks at me. He must see something in my face, because his facial expression is no longer relaxed. Now he's frightened. "What?"

"_El Rey _is on the move. Rumor has it he's headed our way."

Angel's face goes white. He swallows hard. His hands clench and unclench. Once he composes himself, he looks me in the eye. "What are we going to do?"

"Right now, we're all staying here. Most of the guys you met in Springfield will be back here tomorrow. We will have the absolute best on hand. While we look for _El Rey_, you will help Steph with your sisters. I'll call my accountant and get the name of a good realtor. You will be responsible for choosing an appropriate home with Steph's help."

He stares at me. "You want me to pick a house?"

"Absolutely. Steph will help you. If you two can't find something suitable by the end of the week, tell her to call her mother." Mrs. Plum had found a house for Val and Albert in record time, and she'd gotten a damned good price, too. It was a good-sized house with a nice yard for their kids. Not to mention the fact that she arranged for the closing to occur at the speed of light.

"Her mother?" I explain. He nods. "Okay. How do I know how much we can afford?" This last is asked very seriously. For a minute, I'd forgotten this child understands what it costs to barely survive. The concept of having more than enough money was foreign to him.

"Price is no object. Space and safety are my only requirements."

He's wearing a dazed expression when he replies. "I can't pay you back for what you are doing."

I wait to answer until he's looking at me instead of the floor. "There is no price. Not ever."

"No price…" he whispers. "Steph and Lester were talking about something like that the day she came home from the hospital. I don't understand…"

Instead of allowing him to wonder, the way I had left Steph to wonder, I explain. "It means I care – we care – enough to help you out without ever _expecting _you to pay us back. We know that you would help us out if our positions were reversed. We know that if we ever need your help, you'll give it. We're offering you our help now, because you need it. No questions asked. No price to pay. Not now. Not ever."

The boy nods and picks up the list of requirements we had decided on for a house. "I'll choose carefully."

"I know you will."

The next day…

Steph and the girls spent the entire day at the mall yesterday. Nine full hours. By the time they got back, Woody was practically in tears. He actually had to _shop _ with them. Go into the stores. Wait at fitting room doors. Stand in line. Carry purchases and children. The guards I sent to follow them were just that – guards, there to watch over them and keep them safe, not pack mules. There's a good reason I don't go shopping with Steph. It's faster and less stressful to depose a heavily armed third world dictator and his or her army than it is to go to the mall with the Queen of Shopping.

She'd managed to fill two Explorers. And I do mean _full._ Manuel, much as he loves her, was thanking his lucky stars that all he had to do was sit in the Explorer and let her pack it to the point of overflowing. I swear that one of the SUV's will need new springs. Of course, she roped him into helping unload both vehicles when they got home. She also pressed Binkie into service, despite his protests. The word 'no' doesn't stop her. If anything, it seems to make her more determined.

On the upside, she didn't break any of the Merry Men. No one got hurt or kidnapped. Hell, she didn't even make a dent on our credit card. I don't think she remembers that there's no limit on the account we share. Even if she did, she doesn't realize I have enough money to buy half the city and furnish it, clothe it, and feed it. Money has never been truly important to her. She's always happy as long as she has enough to keep a roof over her head and donuts in her stomach.

Today, she and Angel are meeting with the real estate agent. I almost feel bad for the guy. Angel gave me the list of requirements, which I e-mailed to my attorney, who passed them on to the agent. At seven-thirty this morning, there was a fax containing a list of possibilities on my desk. I gave it to Angel, who looked it over with Steph. She called the agent with a list of houses they want to see today. I'm sending Manuel with them today. I figure Woody needs a break. Anna and Bella will be staying with Ella, who's having a blast feeding them baked goods. Turns out their dietary interests are a lot like Steph's. I was almost giddy when I found out that Angel's taste in cuisine runs along the same lines as my own.

Not that I could ever deny Steph or the girls cake, cookies, or donuts. Or pie. Or any other damned thing they want. I did have a good laugh when Angel found that Ella stocked their kitchen with Tastykakes in every possible variety.

The real estate agent will meet Steph and company at the place closest to RangeMan at one. Lester called half an hour ago to report that they were on the road, accompanied by Jemma in a moving van. He didn't have to tell me that Mica's things are in the moving van, too. There's no doubt in my mind that she's coming, too.

I heaved a sigh of relief over the news that Jemma agreed to move. I won't have to hire someone to keep house and cook for us. I won't have to run more background checks. I won't have to do interviews. I won't have to explain my food preferences. I won't have to bribe a new employee to cook two totally different dinners most nights. Thank Christ. All I have to do now is explain Eula, Mooner and Dougie, The Kloughns, Lula, Grandma Mazur, and Mrs. Plum.

Shit.

Late evening, 2000 hours…

The control room just called to tell me that Steph and her entourage have returned. Steph looks happy. Angel looks tired. Manuel looks the same way Woody did yesterday. Or so they tell me.

I open the apartment door and wait in the hall. I'd like to run down the stairs and grab her, but it would be unprofessional to snatch her off the control room floor, where she will no doubt stop to chat for a minute when the guards step off the elevator on the fifth floor.

Right about the time I decide to go get her anyway, the doors to the elevator open and she hobbles off, swinging the crutches just as fast as she can. Her face is lit by a beautiful smile. But then, her smiles are always beautiful.

The control room told me Angel looked tired; they weren't kidding. He also looked dazed, like he'd narrowly missed being run over by a Mack truck. I squinted at him. No. He looked like he'd been hit by the truck. I'm betting the truck is named Stephanie.

Manuel looks like he's going to be hitting me up for an all – expenses - paid vacation soon. I figure I'll let him go when Woody gets back.

"Any luck, Babe?" I smile down at her. Drowning in those blue eyes again…

"Yup. C'mon and see the brochure." She sweeps past me into the apartment and heads for the couch. We've spent a lot of our relationship on that couch. It's going to have to move with us.

Angel drops into a recliner and tilts it back. He closes his eyes and sighs. I guess Hurricane Stephanie wore him out.

I sit on the couch with my back to the arm and one leg along the back of the couch. I pull her back against me, into my arms, looking over her shoulder at the brochure for the house she and Angel agreed upon. She slides her hips back into my…never mind… and rests her head on my shoulder. I listen to her excited chatter about the houses they saw, and this one that they like the best. I lose track of what she's saying, pressing my face into her hair and closing my eyes. Breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

"So what do you think?" she wants to know. I think she smells like heaven.

It would probably be bad to tell her I haven't been paying attention because I'm busy reveling in the way she feels in my arms, leaning back against me… "What do you think, Babe?"

She elbows me lightly in the stomach. "I just told you what I think."

"I know. I'd like to hear it again. To make sure I've got all the details." Or, at least one or two of them. Besides the fact that it's a house.

She runs through the information again. Location. Twenty minutes away, just outside Trenton. Lot. Two acres, fenced. One gate with a guardhouse. The gate works on a remote. That will have to be upgraded. The house is _huge_. Three two-story wings branch off the one-story main part of the house. The North wing is the largest and has four two-bedroom suites while the South wing is smaller has four one-bedroom suites. The East wing is the smallest. The master suite is on the second floor of the East wing. It's as big as the apartment on the seventh floor. The first floor of the East wing has servants' quarters. Each suite has a sitting room and a bathroom. The main part of the house has a massive gourmet kitchen, two bathrooms, a formal dining room, a movie theater, a library, a security room, and a massive ballroom. Behind the house, there is a glassed-in building with an indoor pool with a skylight that retracts in the summer. There's also a hot tub.

"Enough room, Babe?" I tease.

Her body tenses. "I…"

I squeeze her a little with my arms. "You what?"

"I thought, maybe… I like having Hector and Juan in the house. And Jemma can move in. And there's space for Lester. Hal and Heather need a break from the RangeMan building. Cal and Mica will need more space…"

"So, basically, you'd like to move half my company in with us."

"Well… um.. yeah.. I mean, I guess so…"

"Okay."

"Okay? You said 'okay'?"

"Will it make you happy?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then it's fine with me. Whatever you want, Babe."

She spins around in my lap as best as she can with the cast and throws her arms around me. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"

I am so fucked.

When she stops thanking me, she pulls my face down to hers and kisses me the way I kiss her. I'm going to have to take Angel's advice and be creative. Soon. Like, as soon as I can get her to bed…

"Do you want to know the asking price?" I look up, stunned that I forgot Angel is still in the room with us. Oops.

"That would be great." Even to my ears, my voice sounds rough.

"It's four point five MILLION." He's still reclining with his eyes closed.

"That's it?" I paid twice that for this building, and it was gutted when I bought it.

His eyes open and he grins at me. "We put in a bid that was accepted. You want to know how much it's going to cost you?"

"That'd be great." Talking business might get my mind out of the bedroom for a few minutes.

"Three even."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Ranger, Angel is the one who did the negotiating. I was going to pay the asking price."

"Do we have to pay cash?" I ask, remembering the nightmare of purchasing the house for the Kloughns with cash.

"Certified check is acceptable."

"Closing?"

"You attorney took care of the financing as soon as you called him. The closing will be Friday of next week. Again, negotiated by Angel."

I'm impressed by this kid. I'm going to have to find a place for him in my company someday very soon. "Proud of you, Angel."

He grins and gets up. "Thanks. Have a nice night. Be creative."

Damned kid.


	13. Chapter 13

A few days later… 

Steph elected Ella to decorate the new house after finding out the she was responsible for decorating the apartment on the seventh floor, as well as the rest of the building. I told Steph to do whatever she wanted with the house. Decorate. Wallpaper. Paint. Rip out walls. Whatever. She says that she wants the house to be the same type of peaceful oasis that the apartment has been.

So, Ella is in charge of decorating the common areas and our suite. Steph is allowing Angel and the girls to decorate their rooms. Angel requested that Ella decorate his space, also. Smart boy. He chose one of the two-bedroom suites on the second floor of the North wing. Hal and Heather chose one of the first floor suites in that wing. Cal and Mica took the other. Heather and Mica chose to decorate their own suites. The ladies quietly agreed to help keep an eye on the children. Something tells me there are going to be more children in our house sooner rather than later.

Last week, when Hector and Juan got back to Trenton, Juan announced that he had left the restaurant in New York. He told us that he plans to open a restaurant here in Trenton. I think that Hector getting shot up in Springfield made him think about what's really important to him. So, he quit the job he loved for the man he loves more. They are more than happy to move into the house with us. Ella is taking care of their rooms, too. They chose a one bedroom suite on the first floor.

Lester and Bobby took over two second floor one bedroom suites. Ella is in charge of their space, too. Jemma is helping out here at RangeMan while Ella does the decorating. We all decided that we'd wait to actually move into the house until it's all redone. That way, the contractors won't be tripping over us and we won't be inhaling paint fumes and wallpaper glue.

So, we're in a holding pattern. Unfortunately, that doesn't excuse us from Sunday dinner in Hell at The Plums'. I don't know whether Steph has fully explained the Lopez children. Knowing her, I doubt it. I'm willing to go so far as to bet that the only one who she told about the children was Albert. Tonight will be our first trip to Sunday dinner with the children. If I'm lucky, a war will break out somewhere and I won't have to deal with Mrs. Plum.

_Sunday night dinner_…

Regrettably, no wars broke out that needed my attention.

The first thing I saw when I parked the Cayenne at The Plums' was the minivan belonging to The Kloughns. Any hope for a relatively peaceful evening went out the window right then and there.

I get out of the car with a sigh and step back to help the girls out of the back. Angel gets out on Steph's side. She looks as apprehensive as I feel. I pick up Anna as a shield. Surely Mrs. Plum won't attack a man holding a little girl, right? Steph has crutches; she can use them as weapons to hold off her mother. I stifle a chuckle as I think about that for a minute. Steph looks at me funny. Angel takes a page from my book and lifts Bella into his arms.

The door to the house swings open with a crash. Anna buries her face in my neck, her arms hanging on to me for dear life. Bella reacts the same way. Steph rolls her eyes and heads for the door Grandma is holding open for us. The fact that Mrs. Plum isn't by her side gives me hope that she's distracted by the Kloughns.

"Hi, Grandma!" Steph says as she breezes through the door ahead of us. Angel looks at me nervously. I nod in what I hope is a reassuring manner and he follows Steph through the door. I thank Edna as I walk past her. She grabs my ass. I manage to avoid flinching.

I follow Steph and Angel into the living room. Albert is sitting on the couch. Valerie is no where to be seen. Hopefully, she'll keep Mrs. Plum in the kitchen. Angel settles down on the couch next to Albert, who is at least familiar to him. Albert smiles and tells him that his girls are in the tiny back yard if Bell and Anna would like to go play with them. Steph offers to show Angel out. I decide I need to follow them to make sure the children are safe.

With five little girls playing in it, the yard seems even smaller than it really is. Steph sits down on the steps. Angel drops to the ground next to her, his watchful gaze never leaving his sisters. I lean back, letting the wall of the house support me. Albert stands on the top step. He followed us out and quietly introduced the Lopez children to his daughters. Angie looked a touch put off, but Mary Alice and Lisa were thrilled to have more girls to involve in their tea party.

Angel is more relaxed than I've ever seen him. He always seems as though he is carrying the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. In some ways, he has; he's been carrying the burden of caring for his sisters alone for far too long. I don't think he feels as though he can relinquish that responsibility to Steph, me, or anyone else. He's willing to allow us to help a little, but not much. To him, they are still solely his concern.

Steph is watching him watch the girls from the corner of her eye. "They look happy, Angel. You made the right decision to bring them here," she says softly.

He looks a touch startled. "Thank you for helping me," is his equally soft reply.

I'm learning that handling Angel isn't all that different from handling Steph. They're both strong and independent. They need to make their own choices. You have to offer them options and compromise. Usually, they end up doing more or less what I want when I use the Options Method, as I've come to think of it.

"What do you think would help draw _El Rey_ out so we can take him down?" Steph asks, still not looking directly at him. She's been bothered about why this guy is after Angel and his sisters. One would think he'd be grateful that Angel was out of the area, away from local authorities. It seems a little odd that a local gang leader would risk pissing off the large, well-organized gang who controls Trenton's Stark Street underworld. Doesn't seem to make much sense for him to step on toes over a kid that's out of his hair.

Of course, it's possible that he found out about Steph's problems with The Slayers a while back and is hoping to use that somehow. Why, I don't know. But then, I don't know much of anything about this guy or his reasons for coming after these kids. Unfortunately, getting information about him hasn't been easy because his gang is small and local. They're tight in a way that bigger gangs aren't. I haven't tried to push Angel to give us more information. I wanted him to more comfortable here first.

Angel hesitates. Finally, he says simply, "Me."

Steph is surprised but she hides it well. "Why you?"

Again, Angel hesitates before answering. He looks at the ground. When he finally answers, his voice is barely audible. "Because I'm his."

I look at him sharply. What? Did Angel join the gang and then defect? Are they related? How is Angel his?

"His, how?" Steph voices the question in my head.

"I… He…" Angel takes a deep, shuddering breath. "He's my father."

Shit.

Impressively enough, Steph shows no real reaction. Her eyes widen a touch. The muscles in her shoulders tighten. Her hands ball into white-knuckled fists. The reactions are fleeting and gone as quickly as they arrived. "I see." She sighs. Her expression changes to 'thinking.' A few minutes pass in silence. "Is he their father, too?" She gestures at the girls with her chin.

Angel sighs. "Yes."

Fuck.

"He wants you guys back, but he's after Ranger and me because we took you." As often happens, Steph begins thinking aloud. "Which means he's equally likely to come after us." She squints into the distance. "So we can draw him out by being visible while you guys stay safe inside the RangeMan building or the house." She nods to herself, looking like she's just solved all the world's problems. She looks up at me. "You and I are going to be bait, Ranger."

I knew this was going to be her decision the second Angel admitted that this guy is his father. "Sure are, Babe."

Later that evening, back at RangeMan… 

We returned the kids to their apartment. I arranged for a guard to be on duty outside their door. I arranged for additional guards inside the building on every floor above ground, including the roof. The perimeter lights were turned on and left that way, instead of going off at 0100. The garage was on lockdown. The elevator was turned off. The stairwells were secured.

No one is getting in or out of here tonight.

Steph and I are in the control room with Lester, discussing the best way to keep the kids safe until we lay hands on _El Rey_. Logically, they need to stay indoors and out of sight. They need guards. They need to be out of sight.

They're kids and they'll need to be entertained. Not unlike Steph, they'll be climbing the walls without something to keep them busy.

"We could call in a nanny or something," Lester says.

I shake my head. So does Steph. "Not enough time to find someone willing to work in this atmosphere, keep their mouth shut, and pass my background check," Steph informs him. She's right. Her background checks are more thorough than even Silvio's. And his are unreal.

Lester taps his fingers on his thigh. Steph has her thinking face on. Suddenly she slaps herself in the head. "DUH!"

"What?" Lester asks.

"My sister. Georgia. Women who know how to keep kids busy. Women we know and trust. Women who will be willing to work in this atmosphere."

She's got a point. "When's Val due?" I ask. I've lost track.

"I dunno. But it's her fourth. They say it gets easier every time." Steph shudders as she finishes speaking.

"Babe." That's a visual I really didn't need. From the look on his face, neither did Lester.

Steph rolls her eyes at me and whips out her cell. "I'm going to try Georgia first. Val can be second-string."

Ten minutes later, the arrangements have been made. Steph and I will spend the next several days out and about, making sure we are seen all over the city. Visible. The girls will be both safe and distracted. "What about Angel, Babe?" I can't see him playing with the little ones while we offer ourselves up as targets. I also can't see him being easily distracted.

She smirks at me. "No problem. I'm going to make him Louis' assistant. All the stuff that Ella and Georgia normally do around here is now his job. Except the cooking. I _need_ Ella's cooking."

I stifle a chuckle. Lester doesn't bother and gets swatted in the back of the head by my sweet little wife. "HEY!"

"Babe." That earns me Another eye roll. "C'mon. You've got an appointment with the doc at 0800." I aim her toward the elevator before she accidentally knocks Lester out.

"Shit. Why did I take such an early appointment again?" she grumps as she gets into the elevator with me.

"I believe it had something to do with the possibility of getting the cast off immediately… And this was the only appointment available for a month."

"Crap." She stomps her crutch. "I hope this appointment is worth it!"

Me, too, I think as the elevator stops on the seventh floor. 'Cause I _really_ miss having her legs wrapped around me…

Monday morning, 0730… 

Steph is not a morning person. She is not totally functional before noon, which means that she's grumpy and clumsy as we make our way down to the garage. Once she's seated in the truck, I hand her a large travel mug filled with strong coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar.

"I love you," she says, taking a sip and closing her eyes.

I smile. "I know, Babe." She grunts at me. I chuckle softly as I make my way to the driver's side.

The traffic is pleasantly light all the way to the doctor's office. We check in with the receptionist and have a seat in the waiting room. Blessedly, her name is called before she starts to fidget.

Steph had the foresight to wear a skirt. She's been doing that a lot since she got the cast. Alternatively, she wears a pair of Hector's gym shorts. Mine are way too big for her. The skirt guarantees that she won't have to strip out of her pants for a Johnny. She really hates those things.

I help her up onto the exam table and lay the crutches on the floor next to the table. I take a seat in the chair meant for non-patients. As soon as my ass touches the vinyl, she starts to fidget. I'm surprised she's lasted this long, really. She's not good at waiting. And she's been waiting what, three whole minutes since we checked in at the front desk?

She sighs. "Problem, Babe?"

"What if he won't take the cast off?"

I'll be climbing the walls right along with her. "You'll have it on for a few more weeks."

"Ugh. It's driving me crazy. And it _itches_."

"I'm sorry, Babe."

She grunts at me. "Not as sorry as I'm going to make the asshole who shot me."

I smile at her. "No doubt in my mind."

Before she can get to her crutches and beat me with them, there's a soft knock and the door opens to reveal a man who looks like he should be on my staff at RangeMan. He's at least six foot one and two hundred fifty pounds or so of muscle. His entrance stops Steph's fidgeting and makes her jaw drop. "Holy crap! Are you really the doctor?"

He looks at her calmly. "Yes, I'm really the doctor. No, I never played football. No, I was never a professional body builder. No, I was never a pro wrestler."

"Oh." She gulps.

I stand and offer my hand. "Ranger."

He looks up from Steph's paperwork and smiles at me. "I've had your boys in my office before. I'm Mike Stebbins." We shake hands and chat for a few minutes about how my employees are and I answer his questions about Tank's leg. He's the one who set it when Tank broke it helping Steph catch a skip. I tell him about Tank's marriage to Lula and their new baby.

Steph looks at him. "Hello? Remember me? I want this cast off."

Mike turns a reassuring smile on Steph. "I'm just looking over the x-ray reports from your current injury, Mrs. Manoso."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Well? What do they say?"

"They say you got shot twice in the right leg, once just above the kneecap, which caused it to become dislocated. And it says here that you've got three holes on your leg now."

"And?" She squirms, looking like she feels guilty for having so many holes in her leg.

Mike pauses for a beat, reading another page from her voluminous medical file. "This is not the first time you've been shot, is it?"

"Of course not! But mostly, I've only needed Band-Aids."

I chuckle softly. I'm the one who told her that. In all reality, her GSW's have rarely even required stitches. This is only the second time. Of course, there was the knife wound from that time she was hanging on the side of a building not long before we got married…

She swings her left leg out to kick me. I sidestep and smile at her. She gives me a dirty look. Mike grunts at something else he's read and she turns the dirty look on him.

"I'm going to remove the cast so I can get a good look at the injury sites. I'm going to take some x-rays while the cast is off. I may also send you down for an MRI. Once I have a good idea of the damage done, I'll decide what we're going to do about the cast."

Steph sighs. "So when are you taking it off?"

He smiles at her. "Is right now good for you?"

Steph's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Perfect."

I help Steph down off the examining table and hand her the crutches. We follow Mike out the door and down the hall to a room labeled CASTS. Mike points us to a clean, stainless steel table covered by a white sheet with a pillow at one end. "Ranger, if you could help the lady up onto that table please. Mrs. Manoso, I'd appreciate it if you could lay down and relax for me."

"Steph."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Stephanie. Mrs. Manoso is awfully formal for a man who's going to be lifting my skirt."

Mike makes a choking sound and turns bright red. He turns to me, eyes bugging out of his head. I smile and shrug. Really, she's got a point. In order to remove the cast, he's going to have to lift the hem of her skirt to the top of her thigh. "Ah.. Stephanie. Okay."

Mike opens a cabinet and removes a special saw made for cutting through plaster casts. It's Steph's turn to do the bug-eyed thing. "Holy crap! Are you going to cut my friggin' leg off?"

Mike smiles again, his face returning to its normal color. "Nope. Just the cast."

Steph looks over at me, apprehension in her eyes. I move to stand by her left shoulder and taker her hand in mine. As soon as I touch her, I see the tension leave her body. I giver her hand a reassuring squeeze when the saw starts. In under five minutes, the cast is removed. Steph promptly reaches down and starts scratching her dry, itchy skin. Mike tells her soap and water are on the way. She asks if she can put lotion on her leg, if they should need to put the cast back on.

"Some, but you're going to keep it away from the open wounds."

"Ugh." She keeps scratching.

A minute or so later, the nurse appears with the promised soap and water, as well as a rough wash cloth. Mike wets the cloth and adds soap to it. He reaches over to start scrubbing her leg. His hand stops halfway to her leg and he turns red again, then hands me the wet cloth. "I can't do this after the skirt thing with her husband standing here."

I chuckle and take it from him. "I understand. Tell me if I do this wrong."

I begin scrubbing her leg. The cloth is on the rough side, and the dead skin comes off with minimal pressure. I carefully wash around the wound sites. They're ugly, puckered at the edges and red in the center with yellowed fading bruises all around them. All three holes have black stitches holding them together. I'm relatively sure that the one on her thigh will leave a bad scar despite the surgeon's careful suture job. I'm not crazy enough to bring that up in front of Steph, though.

I'm also having a very difficult time simply washing her leg. I keep thinking about where her thing ends. Concentrating on the task at hand becomes increasingly complicated. I close my eyes for a minute and take a deep breath, finally managing to get my imagination under control.

Once her leg is both clean and relatively free of dead skin, Mike hands me a towel and I dry her leg off. He sends the nurse to hunt down some lotion while he examines the sutures.

"Steph, I'm going to take your stitches out. The wounds are healed well enough for that. X-Ray will be ready for you after that. Once I have the films back, we'll decide what to do next."

"How long is that gonna take?"

"An hour or so."

Steph pouts. "That long?"

I smile. "Babe."

She looks up at me. "_What_?"

"It's only an hour. We can talk about _El Rey_."

"Okay." Sometimes, it doesn't take much to distract her. Other times, it takes an Act of God. I'm not sure which this is.

Twenty minutes later, we're headed for Radiology. Steph is in a wheelchair. She's not happy about that. I told her that if she can cooperate for just a little longer, I'll have Ella make her chocolate cake for dinner. I'm lying my ass off. I already spoke to Ella and Steph is getting the cake for lunch.

The x-rays are completed and in no time at all, we're headed back up to Mike's office. Steph is resettled on the table in the first examining room. She's looking a little tired; sitting still and behaving are very hard work for her.

Fifteen minutes or so later, Mike is knocking on the door. He opens the door and walks in, seating himself at the small table in the corner by the sink. He has a blank face on. It's almost as good as mine, but I can see a hint of humor. I suspect he's about to play a joke on my lovely wife. I hope I can keep her from killing him over it. The guys like him and he's a great doc.

"Well, Stephanie. I really think you're going to need that cast a little bit longer." He's having trouble keeping a straight face, so he looks down at some papers on the table.

Steph groans. "How much longer?" Her voice is heavy with disappointment, and she looks down at her hands, no doubt to hide the tears of frustration gathering in her eyes.

"I think four weeks or so should do it."

"_WHAT?"_ I'm pretty sure the whole building heard her shriek.

"A month. Four weeks. Give or take." I'm impressed by Mike's ability to keep his voice even and calm.

"_A FUCKING MONTH? OR MORE? ARE YOU NUTS?"_ No doubt about how she feels, now is there?

Mike pales. "Uh…" He can't seem to make any more noise than that.

Steph looks ready to launch herself off the table and go ballistic. I decide to intervene. Better for everyone that way. "Babe."

She turns on me, her face red. Tears are pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. "A month?" she whispers.

Mike decides it would be best to admit he's kidding. To me. "Um… Ranger… Ah … I'm really kidding. The cast is staying off. I'm going to, uh, give Mrs. Manoso a nice flexible brace instead."

Steph goes from rhino to a dead stop in a heartbeat. Her color returns to normal. Her fists unclench. Her eyes lose the wild look. Her tears dry.

Mike starts to breathe again. His color doesn't totally return to normal, though. And come to think of it, it looks like he's still sweating, too.

I wrap Steph in my arms, partly to comfort her, partly to distract her from the idea of separating Mike's nuts from his body. She puts her head on my shoulder and her arms encircle my waist. I kiss her head. "All better, Babe?"

She sniffs and nods. Mike wisely leaves the room to get the brace. Steph relaxes into me and sighs. "I can't kill him, can I?"

"No, Babe."

She sighs again. "Damn."

"Sorry. At least he wasn't serious."

"He needs to work for you. He knows how to do the blank face thing. And he's built and sexy, too." The last is mumbled, as if she's talking to herself.

"I think he likes what he does now, Babe. Safer." Except when he's teasing her.

In less than fifteen minutes, we're back in the car and on our way home. A mile from the office, my cell rings. It's Lester. "Yo."

"Ranger. Problem."

"Talk."

"We've located _El Rey._"

"Where?"

"Right this second, he's in the low rider behind you. Bobby, Cal, and I are right up his ass in an Explorer."

"What else?"

"He's armed with a nice AK-47 that he acquired on Stark this morning. Unfortunately, he was unable to procure ammo."

"Bought it from Manuel, did he?"

"You know it."

"So is he following or attacking?"

"Dunno. He picked you up three blocks from the medical center. That Porsche is an eye-catcher."

"Sure is." And that's why we took it this morning. No point in being bait if no one can see you coming. "Babe, you buckled up?" She nods. "Ready to play, Les?"

"Always."

I turn into a wide alley between two buildings a block up from RangeMan. I hit the breaks and turn the car sideways in front of the car Mr. Diego Martinez, AKA _El Rey_, is driving. He swerves to avoid hitting me. Lester boxes him in from behind. Diego is trapped between a rock and a hard place filled with armed men and a woman.

I shut down the engine and wait to see what he's going to do. Beside me, Steph eases her gun out of her purse. I remove mine from the small of my back.

The door to the modified 1970 Plymouth Fury opens. Out steps a man who is undeniably related to Angel. He's perhaps five and a half feet tall, one hundred and forty pounds. His face is what Angel's will look like when he is that age. He's wearing loose jeans and a tight white tank top that shows off his sculpted torso. From where I sit, I can see a plethora of gang insignias tattooed on his face and arms.

Were it not for the fact that my injured-but-healing wife is in the car with me, I would be enjoying this situation. I would enjoy making him squirm. As it stands, my primary concern is getting Steph, me, and my guys out of here alive and in one piece.

Martinez looks nervous. He can't keep his eye on all of us; we're too spread out. The best option he has is back up into the wall and stand behind the bumper of his car. He'll be able to see movement from both directions and have the car as cover.

He's not that smart.

His head swings back and forth between the Explorer and the Porsche, trying to decide which is the greatest threat. Given his stupidity so far, I'm willing to bet he'll come to me.

He casts one last look at the Explorer and launches himself over the hood of the Fury. Right at me. At us. Before I can react, Steph is out of the car, aiming her gun at Diego. Does she wait for me or the other guys? Of course not.

"Hold it right there, asshole!" she roars. He skids to a stop five feet from my door. His eyes are wide. From where I'm sitting, I can't see a gun. He's got no place to hide a weapon the size on an AK-47 on his person. He must have left it in the car. Of course, that doesn't mean he hasn't got a handgun or a knife on him.

I open my door and step out. He turns to look at me. I hear doors slam across the alley. The troops are on the move. Hopefully, one of them will get to Steph and get her on the ground before she gets hurt again.

Martinez's gaze dashes from person to person, once again assessing the danger potential. As before, I'm willing to bet who he'll choose as the weakest link. This time, my money's on Steph. Of course, the moron has no idea that nothing could be further from the truth.

Sure as shit he heads for Steph, trying to knock her down. She knees him in the balls so hard his face turns the same color as eggplant. As he hits the ground, Steph shoots him in the knee. When he finally lands, she kicks him in the same knee. "How do you like it, asshole?"

Lester reaches her first and grabs her around the waist. "Leave him be, _Chiquita_."

She struggles. "Damn it Lester, I AM NOT A BANANA!"

He laughs. "Okay, Darlin'. Let us take care of him, now." He kisses her head and turns her loose.

I cuff Diego while he cries and gasps for air. Steph kneels down next to him. She's silent until he finally looks at her. If I was him, I'd shit myself just from the look on her face. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" she asks him softly. He shakes his head. "You should think about it. The worst thing you imagine won't even come close."

She looks at Lester and Cal, who are standing together. She nods once. "RangeMan holding cell?" Lester guesses. She nods. "Before or after the hospital?"

She looks down at Martinez. "Hospital? All he needs is a Band-Aid." With that, she gets back into the car… After she kicks the man on the ground one more time.

I settle into the driver's seat. "Feel better, Babe?"

She gives me that smile that makes me forget to breathe. "Yup."


	14. Chapter 14

**PAY ATTENTION for a minute, here. ****This next section includes graphic violence and OOC behavior from Stephanie. If you're squeamish, skip it. If you can't stand to see Steph behave in an OOC manner, skip it. You aren't sure how you feel about those things… SKIP IT. J**

The next morning… 

The kids don't know that we picked up Martinez yesterday. We called ahead to make sure they wouldn't see him brought in. After all, asshole or not, he is their father.

We'll deal with him today. I have already decided to let Steph make all the decisions about how to handle him. When I spoke to Hector, he agreed with me. So did the rest of the Springfield crew. I would have preferred to let Hector have him, but he's still not up to a confrontation like this.

Juan offered to loan Steph his knives. If I tell her that, I'm not so sure she won't take him up on that offer. And honestly, I'd rather she not have that on her conscience.

Martinez has multiple wants and warrants across the Northeast. There will be no problem keeping him in custody once he's handed over to the police.

_If_ he's handed over to the police.

Right now, she's still sleeping. It's not quite seven yet. I would have liked to let her sleep through this day, but she'd never forgive me. That thought was one of the reasons why I'd made the decision to allow her to have control over Martinez's fate.

Last night, I spoke to Albert about getting the children's birth certificates, medical records, school record, and social security numbers. This morning, I learned he'd spent the night getting all of their paperwork together. It's amazing what a few bribes can accomplish.

Their papers will be on my desk no later than noon. Shortly thereafter, I hope to have legal papers saying that they are now ours.

With a sigh, I swallow the last of the coffee in my cup and go to wake my wife. I'd rather get this over with and not have it hanging over our heads any longer than necessary.

At the bedroom door, I pause, watching her sleep. I never liked sharing a bed with a woman beyond sex. Not even Rachel. I couldn't sleep like that. Steph changed that for me though. After that one night I spent in her bed - the night she kicked her couch out for having death cooties - I found I had trouble sleeping without her. Until that night, I had never willingly _slept_ with a woman. In fact, aside from Rachel, I never had simply slept with anyone other than Steph.

I love the way she wraps herself around me when she sleeps. I love the way she holds on to me. I love being able to feel her with me when I wake in the night. What I once found an annoyance I now find… comforting.

I walk over to the bed and lean down to kiss her. With a soft moan, she wraps her arms around me. I let her drag me down onto the bed. I'd like to stay here all day.

We can't though.

I stifle a sigh and kiss her softly. "Time to get moving, Babe."

"Innaminna." She pulls the comforter up over her head. I chuckle quietly.

"Not in a minute. Now." Her hand appears near her pillow and she flips me the bird. I can't help but laugh. "Babe."

"Ugh." She flips the covers back and rolls to the edge of the bed. "Fine," she grouses. "I'm up. See? I hope you're happy." Her feet finally hit the floor and she staggers off to the bathroom, grumping at me the whole time.

Thirty minutes later, she emerges. She's wearing a RangeMan uniform. Her hair is up in a pony tail. She's kept the makeup to a bare minimum. She stops by the closet for her heaviest boots. Steel toes. Steel shanks. Heavy rubber soles an inch thick. She pulls them up over her calves and zips them up, the hem of each leg tucked into its boot. When she stands up, I head out to get her a bagel and some coffee. By the time she hits the kitchen, I have her breakfast ready.

She eats in silence and drinks three cups of coffee. She hits the bathroom and brushes her teeth. She enters the dressing room and emerges with her utility belt. I retrieve her weapons from the safe. I already have mine. She buckles her belt and loads it up. When she's done, she looks up at me and smiles. "Let's go."

I take her hand in mine and we head to the second floor. Before the elevator doors open, I pull her into my arms and kiss her deeply. "Babe." Her eyes are dazed when they meet mine. "You have control here, Babe. We do whatever you feel is appropriate. What we do with Martinez is your call. Do you understand?"

She nods and swallows hard. "I need to do the right thing."

I return her nod. "Yes. And I will back you on whatever you think is right. So will the rest of the guys."

"What about Hector?"

"He agreed to turn control of this situation over to you." No need to tell her that if he was able, he'd want to take care of the matter. With pleasure. Or that I'd really prefer to hand Martinez over to someone else.

"Okay." She blows out a sigh as I press the button and allow the doors to open. "Let's do this."

I follow her out the door and toward the interrogation room where Martinez is waiting for us under heavy guard. Tank is in the hall just outside the elevator doors. Bobby is inside the interrogation room with Martinez. Lester is waiting outside the door. "Good morning," he greets us with a smile.

"Any problems?" I ask him.

"Not a one. Of course, we had to carry him in." His smile is cold. I'm sure that Martinez is feeling more pain this morning than he was yesterday afternoon for a variety of reasons. He looks at Steph. "You ready, Sweetheart?"

Her eyes meet his. She nods. "I'm ready."

"You want to trade places at any time, just say the word." I can tell he's hoping she'll let him have at this guy. Personally, I am, too.

"Thanks, Les."

He unlocks the door. He pushes it open and we walk in.

Bobby nods to both of us. I nod back. Steph smiles and motions for him to stay when he moves to join Lester in the hall.

Diego Martinez is looking a little worse for the wear. He's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His hands are cuffed behind his back. His pant leg is stiff with dried blood where Steph shot him. I can also see that it's wet just above his knee. Either he's still bleeding or he's bleeding again. I'm betting on the latter. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back slightly. If he were a skip, Steph would probably take him to the hospital before delivering him to lockup.

The look on her face says that Martinez is going to neither of those places.

She moves to stand over him. She wears an expression of complete disgust as she looks down at him. The sense of fairness that wouldn't permit her to strike Anton Ward is what allows him some semblance of freedom. "Uncuff him, Ranger."

I push myself off the wall I've been leaning on since we entered the room. I crouch next to Martinez and turn him to unlock the cuffs. He doesn't respond. I pocket the cuffs and step back.

"Mr. Martinez. You are going to make some decisions here today. Make good ones and you live to be turned over to the authorities. Make bad ones and I start removing body parts." Her voice is steely and harsh. There is no doubt in my mind that she means precisely what she says.

Martinez doesn't respond to her. I look closely to make sure he's breathing.

Steph waits for a moment, watching him. When he refuses to respond to her toe in his ribs (beyond an involuntary grunt), she looks over to Bobby and me. "Get him in the chair."

We snap shit to obey her order. A moment after she issued it, her order has been executed. Martinez is sitting upright in the chair. I know he's awake and alert despite his 'possum impression.

Steph watches him, her eyes narrowing. I've seen that look before. This guy is fucked. Storm Stephanie is about to cause a flash flood.

She moves to stand in front of the chair. Bobby and I move to stand behind him, just in case. "You could have made this easy."

Her hand shoots out, slapping him in the face, splitting his lip against his teeth. Bobby audibly gasps. I allow my eyes to widen in surprise. Steph is simply not a violent person. Had he only shot her, this wouldn't be happening. He'd crossed the line by shooting her partner and hurting his children, though.. The unheard of violence is a testament to how angry she is on their behalf.

When he spits blood at her, she pins him to the chair by his throat. "I do believe I offered you choices. You can make the right ones or the wrong ones. The right ones will save your life. The wrong ones get you a slow and painful death. Your call."

It's becoming an effort to hide my shock. Steph kicks ass, no doubt about it. But this… This is something I would do. It's completely out of character for the strong and fair woman I married. I almost pity Martinez.

When he fails to answer, her knee finds his balls. Again. And again. His face is purple. His eyes are watering. He's gasping for breath. "I'm waiting. Not patiently."

"Fuck you!"

Her hands reach for his throat and squeeze. "Wrong answer. Care to try again?"

This time, he spits in her face. Her forehead connects with his nose. He screams. Blood runs freely from his nose, mixing on his chin with the blood from his lip.

Steph steps back. She smiles. It's not pleasant. "Just remember, you chose." Her fist connects with his temple. Martinez falls out of the chair and crumples to the floor. She looks at Bobby and me. "Oops. He fell down." Her voice is cold and eerily calm.

Bobby clears his throat. "Want us to pick him up for you, Baby?" His voice is calm. Almost soothing.

She nods. "Please. We'll be taking him to Hector now." Hector and Juan have been staying on the fourth floor, having given up their apartment to move into the house with us. He's not going far, but I refuse to give him an opportunity to escape.

Bobby shackles his ankles while I cuff his hands behind him again. We each get him under an arm and haul him to his feet. If we let go, he'll hit he floor. Steph holds the door open and we carry him through.

Lester raises an eyebrow. "We're taking him to Hector." Lester smiles and grabs his feet. If he opens his eyes now, he'll be facing the carpet. I briefly consider letting him drop onto the floor. In the end, though, I don't. Steph wants Hector to have him, so Hector is going to get him.

And I want him to be conscious for that.

Tank opens the elevator doors and follows us in. When the doors open on the fourth floor, he follows us out and takes up a position across the hall from the apartment.

At the door to the apartment where Hector and Juan have been living for the past week, Steph knocks politely on the door. A moment later, Hector opens the door. He's still moving slowly. He's still hurting. He's still healing. He's not up for a physical confrontation. It becomes clear to me why Steph attacked before delivering Martinez to Hector. This was her intention from the moment I gave her control.

Steph smiles and carefully hugs Hector. "Brought you a present."

"I see that." I can tell by the look on Hector's face that he knows who his present is. And I can tell he's pleased to get it. All of a sudden, I remember why Hector terrifies people – even me. Steph, of course, is unfazed by the change in his demeanor. But then, being his regular partner, she's probably seen this change before. And she knows he'd die before hurting her.

"Do you want him?" Steph asks, sounding for all the world like she's presented him with a puppy instead of a killer.

Hector swings the door wide. "Please." We walk in and deposit him on the kitchen floor. It's easier to get blood off of tile than out of carpeting. Bobby hands smelling salts to Lester. He opens the vial and holds it under the mutilated nose of Diego Martinez. Diego gags and jerks his head away.

Hector turns to Steph. "Has he done what you asked?"

"No. He declined to make the right decision."

Hector nods. "And you brought him to me to get your answers?"

Steph looks surprised. "No. I brought him to you because he shot you."

"He shot you, too."

Her eyes darken. "But he _hurt_ you."

"He hurt you, too," is Hector's soft reply.

"Not the same way."

"No. Worse."

Steph's eyes snap to Hector's. "No. He hurt them worse."

Hector bows his head slightly, conceding her point. "We cannot give him to them."

She shakes her head. "No."

"But it is not right for either of us to take care of this alone."

I think I'm lost. I'm not totally sure what they're talking about, beyond Martinez and the people he hurt and upon whom he has inflicted the most damage.

Steph looks thoughtful. "No. I suppose it's not."

"Together, then?"

"Together." Her voice is firm and sure.

"Okay, _Hermana. _Together." Hector walks into the living area and unlocks a drawer in the entertainment center. He removes a small black case and returns to us. He opens it and allows Steph to choose from the objects in the case. Knives, with blades incredibly thin and lethally sharp. Wide blades that will make a big hole. Skewers. A straight razor. A switchblade. Needles – _big_ needles. A small, pointed hammer. Needle nose pliers…

Steph selects a knife with a blade about a half-inch wide. Hector takes the hammer. At his request, the cuffs and shackles are removed. Hector removes a thick piece of stainless steel from a pocket in the case and hands it to Steph, who places it on the floor and then flattens Martinez's left hand on it. She spreads his fingers. Hector brings the hammer down on Diego's little finger. The man screams.

Steph doesn't flinch. "Did that hurt?" Her voice is harsh, but calm. Diego is suddenly covered in sweat. His eyes become filled with terror. He fails to answer her question. "I guess not," she says, then yanks hard on his shattered finger. He screams again. "How about that?" He gasps, trying to speak. "Are you ready to make the right choices now?" she asks sweetly.

Seeing her like this is both terrifying and fascinating. It's not her, but it _is_ her. This is what happens when Stephanie Manoso reaches the end of her rope. Like a mama bear, she'll do whatever is necessary to protect her cubs – no matter how old they are.

Steph is still holding down Diego's hand. Again, Hector raises the hammer. This time, it's poised over the webbing between his ring finger and newly mutilated finger. Martinez lets out a terrified squeak. "'Scuse me?" Hector asks. "You got something to say?"

Martinez gasps for breath, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. He coughs. "Ah.."

Hector pauses, the hammer hovering over its target. "Talk."

"What….choices…" he chokes out.

Steph looks him in the eye. "Choices regarding the safety and well-being of your children."

Martinez laughs at her. Then he spits blood on her boots. The hammer comes down on his hand. He screams. Steph lashes out, her knife drawing a fine line of blood down his cheek. He screams again.

Hector grabs Diego's chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Answer her. Give her the right answer."

Something in Diego's face changes. He didn't take Steph seriously. He takes Hector seriously. Very, very seriously. I can see the moment when his attitude changes. Like someone flipped a switch in his head, making him realize how deep the shit that he is in actually goes.

He jerks away from Hector and turns to Steph. Her expression mirrors Hector's. For a split second, _I_ am afraid of her. Lester and Bobby move back a step. It takes a concentrated effort to remain where I am and not step back to join them.

"_Puta_. What do you want?"

Hector taps Diego's injured finger with the hammer. "Apologize."

Diego groans. "Sorry," he hisses. "What do you want?"

"I want you to give your children the life they deserve. Give them a family. I want you do give them to me and my husband."

Diego rolls his eyes. "Who would marry _you_?"

Steph smiles again. That cold, unpleasant smile that turns her soft blue eyes into ice. She points at me. "He did."

He turns to me. "You? You married _her_? Yer Ranger, right? From some PMC in the Garbage State. I hearda you."

I smile. It's no warmer than Steph's. "I did marry her. Since you've heard of me, I'm sure you know what we're capable of doing."

"How much will you give me for them?"

Disgust fills me. Steph answers before I can. "I will let you live."

He snorts and spits blood on the floor. "You won't kill me."

Hector stands up and looks down at him. "If she doesn't, I will."

Martinez's dark skin pales until he's as light as his children. He's catching on to the fact that he will die if he fails to cooperate. "Why you want them?"

"Because they're good children who deserve better than what they've gotten so far."

"They're like animals. They're wild."

Funny, but they hadn't been that way with us. They'd been remarkably good, considering their lives recently. I speak. "Better animals than monsters like you."

He turns to me with a calculating look. "You gonna sell them? Or use them? They're all untouched. You could be the first to touch them. Sell them to the highest bidder."

Bile rises in my throat as he speaks, insinuating that we want the children for sex slaves or profit.

"You sick fucking son of a bitch!" He never sees Steph's fist coming. Again, she strikes him in the temple. When he goes down, she follows him, her fists landing on his ribs again and again.

I let her pummel him for a moment, then I step forward and gently lift her off of him. I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. "Your call, Babe," I whisper into her ear. She shivers.

She takes a deep breath, looking down at the man on the floor. "He's not going to cooperate, is he?"

I meet Hector's eyes over her head. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. I agree with him. This guy is not going to cooperate. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to say to her. "No, Babe."

She sags against me for a second. This is not what she wanted. She nods once and stands up straight, squaring her shoulders resolutely. "He chose."

Hector reaches over and cups her face in his hand. "_Si._ He chose. Remember that, _Querida._"

Her eyes close for a moment. When she reopens them, I can tell she has resolved herself to what must be done. "Babe. I can do this for you."

Lester steps up next to us. "So can I."

Bobby nods. "I'd be more than happy."

Hector looks at Steph. "It's your choice."

I learned at the beginning of our relationship just how important it is to her to have choices. To be able to make decisions for herself. To have control over what happens to her.

Her eyes meet Hector's. "Together?" she asks.

He inclines his head toward her. "Together," he agrees quietly.

We sit Martinez up against the cabinets. Lester holds the smelling salts under his nose again. Again, he gags and twists to get away from the ammonia fumes.

Steph crouches in front of him. She's holding the knife loosely in her right hand. Hector crouches next to her and covers her hand on the knife. She looks at Martinez. "This is your final chance."

Diego looks her in the eye. "You don't have the balls to kill me, you stupid bitch"

Hector guides the knife to Diego's chest, just about where his heart would be if he had one. Hector looks at Diego. "You chose." As he speaks, the knife sinks into Diego's chest, more slowly than I would have thought possible.

Diego has the nerve to look surprised. He's so shocked that he doesn't even struggle.

Lester calls for Tank to bring a body bag. He looks to me. "Slayer Territory?" I nod. The body will be dumped in an area and in such a manner so that he will appear to be a gang-related kill. No one who knows the truth will ever tell. The kids already know about his violent lifestyle and gang affiliations. People like him die every single day. Frequently, they die by the same violence with which they lived. "Identifiable?"

I look to Steph. "Do you want the cops to be able to positively identify the body?"

"Yeah. I don't want the kids to live with his existence hanging over their heads. I want them to feel safe."

Hector and Steph stand up. Tears are running down her face. He pulls her into his arms and holds her for a minute. We are all aware of what today has cost her. None of us are willing to let her suffer alone. Hector releases her. She turns to me. I take one look at her and pull her into the bathroom, where I hold her while she throws up.

I sit on the floor with her in my lap long after the dry heaves stopped. I want to make sure the body is gone the kitchen is clean before I take her out of here.

Hector comes in and sits on the floor with me. He reaches out and rubs Steph's back. "Are you okay, _Querida?_." His voice is gentle.

She sniffles and nods against my chest.

"You did the right thing, Babe." That gets me another nod and a sniffle.

Honestly, her reaction is not because she's never killed anyone before. She killed Alpha and Cone. But she's never killed anyone like _this_. In cold blood. To protect someone else. Like I killed Abruzzi to keep her safe. It's going to be hard for her. She's not a monster. Killing someone when you're in fight-or-flight mode is a very different feeling than killing someone on purpose.

Lester, Bobby, and Tank appear in the bathroom doorway. I look at them. They silently convey the fact that the cleanup is complete. Lester raises an eyebrow in question. Hector sees him and shrugs. She's not _really_ okay.

Lester steps into the bathroom and lifts her out of my lap. He cuddles her against his chest. He whispers something into her hear that's inaudible to the rest of us. She nods slightly in response. The muscles in his arms flex slightly as he holds her tighter. He presses a kiss into her hair and hands her off to Bobby, who takes her and holds her tight to his chest, her head on his shoulder.

He doesn't whisper into her ear. He speaks softly, though, just loud enough for all of us to hear what he says. "I'm proud of you, Baby. It takes a lot of guts to love someone else's kids that much."

She doesn't react visibly, but the front of his shirt is wet with her tears when he passes her to Tank.

Tank doesn't speak softly. He doesn't pull punches. "This is why we named our baby girl after you. You're strong and you take damned good care of the people you love. Those kids have no one but you., and they're damned lucky."

Tank's words start the tears in earnest. He quickly hands her off to me. They leave to dispose of the body. I carry her out of the bathroom. She refuses to look at the kitchen area. I settle on the couch with her until her tears slow down. Hector gets a box of tissues and sits next to us. "Ranger."

"Yes, Babe?"

"I can't face the kids today. Can you just take me upstairs and tell them I'm sick, please?"

"Okay, Babe."

"I'll go tell them," Hector volunteers. "When Juan gets home, we'll be up with soup, _Hermana._"

"Thank you." Her body is shaking with emotion.

I take her up to the seventh floor and strip her out of her uniform. I put her in the shower and get in with her. I scrub every inch of her body. There's no blood on her body, but I know her well enough to know she'll feel dirty after when happened. I want to make her feel clean. I can't make her feel better. I can't take away the situation or its resolution. I can support her, though. I can make her feel clean again. I can show her how much I love her.

She's still shaking.

When I've scrubbed her body and washed and rinsed her hair, I get out and grab a bath sheet. I wrap her in it and pull her close to me. "I love you, Babe." We don't say the words often. Today, though, I feel that she needs to hear them. I rub her body and hair dry. I gently comb the tangles out of her curls and apply the stuff that keeps them mostly under control.

By the time I'm done, the shaking has slowed down to the occasional shiver. Now that the adrenaline rush is over, she's looking drained. I carry her to the bed and slide in next to her. I pull her to me and tip her face up to meet mine. I kiss her gently, our lips barely touching. "I'm proud of you, Stephanie."

Her tear-filled eyes meet mine. "I'm a terrible person! I killed a man today!"

"Babe, you're a good person who did what needed to be done in order to keep three innocent children safe."

She lets out a sob. "I killed their father!"

"You killed someone who wanted to use them. He was willing to _sell_ them, Babe. That's not a father. That's a monster."

She shivers against me. "Is this how you felt when you killed Abruzzi?"

I've never actually confirmed that I killed him for her. I always felt it would upset her. Today, she's already upset, and I sense that the confirmation will help her. "Yes."

I don't tell her about the savage pleasure that rushed through me when I saw his brain splattered across the window... It was satisfying. It made me almost giddy to know that she was safe from a monster like him. There was relief. The _pleasure_, though… it was so intense the feeling was almost sexual.

Even now, my reaction to the memory of that feeling is an erection. Unfortunately, I am holding her too close for her to miss my reaction. Her eyes fly to mine, stunned at my reaction. She gasps. "Did killing him…excite you?"

I phrase my answer very carefully. "No. But knowing you were safe did." I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her. I really do not want to continue this conversation. And I know the very best way to distract her. I begin moving my hands on her body and deepen the kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

Three days later, 0500 hours… 

Manny just called to tell me that Diego Martinez's body has been found. It was found a little over an hour ago. Allowing for time to process the scene, autopsy and identify the body, I figure we'll 'know' in two or three days. I'm hoping that the knowledge will provide a feeling of security to the children.

I'm praying that once they know, Steph will be able to at least _begin_ to move past this.

The day Diego died, I took her to bed and kept her there. I held her while she cried. I answered a million questions. I made love with her. Her intensity during sex frightened me. She clung to me, something she's never done before. She seemed… desperate to feel close to me. My heart broke for her, then. I fed her. I brought her to the bathroom. I bathed her. I cuddled her while she slept. I woke her when the nightmares began.

Unfortunately, she hasn't spent much time out of bed since… And I haven't been the one keeping her there. Her guilt has.

Mostly she's been just laying there with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. When she gives in and goes to sleep, she wakes screaming and sobbing. I don't know how to help her.

It's killing me.

I brought the kids up here for dinner last night, hoping that she'd respond. She did… while they were here. As soon as they left, she got back in bed. I wish the house was ready; I think she'd be better off there, where she couldn't retreat to the secured penthouse and shut the world out.

I sigh. I'll go talk to Hector. Perhaps he'll have an idea.

I take the elevator down to the fourth floor. I knock and wait for the door to be answered. Usually, I would just walk in, but it's early.

I have to knock twice more before Juan opens the door. I can tell that I just woke him. I feel guilty. My guilt at waking them, however, is overshadowed by my need to help my wife.

"You okay, Ranger?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Steph's not?"

"No. She's not."

Juan opens the door all the way and I follow him into the apartment. "Hector is getting up. It takes him a few minutes these days."

I'll bet. I've been shot in the chest. It's unbelievable how long the pain lasts and how much it restricts your movements. "I know how he feels."

Juan smiles at me. "I know you do. That's why I told him not to rush."

I follow him to the kitchen and watch him make coffee. By the time he hands me a full mug, Hector is standing next me. Juan hands him a mug, too.

"C'mon. I need to sit." Hector carefully lowers himself onto a chair at the table. I take on across from him. Juan begins making breakfast. Hector watches him, a faint smile on his face.

"I'm sorry to get you up this early."

Hector shrugs. "No problem. Must be important."

"Steph."

"Not doing well?"

"No. She won't even get out of bed."

"Did you bring the kids up?"

"She got out of bed for them, but was back under the covers before the door closed behind them."

Hector grunts and swallows half the coffee in his cup. "Have you been down to the control room yet?"

I shake my head. "I'm afraid to leave her."

"Go down to the control room. I'll take care of her. Send Lester up."

Lester? "Why Lester?"

"He understands her best."

What? I don't understand her? "Huh?"

Hector smiles. "You're her husband. You understand her within the boundaries of your relationship."

I snort. Don't tell Steph I did that. "She was my coworker long before she became my wife."

"She was."

I'm stumped. "I don't get it," I finally admit.

Hector looks me in the eye. "Do you remember the day she came to you?"

Of course. How could I possibly forget that day? "Yes."

"I told you I'd kill you and Morelli if you failed to take care of her or hurt her again."

What does that have to do with this? "I recall." Vividly.

"You've always loved her, just the way she is. To you, she _is_ Wonder Woman. Sometimes, she's _just_ a woman."

"I'm lost."

Hector sighs. "You don't have to understand. Just trust me with her… The same way you have since the day she cried in my arms over you."

I swallow hard. I nod. "I trust you."

"I'm going up stairs now. Send Lester up as soon as he gets in. Keep Ella out. Juan will feed us today."

"Do you want me to stay away?"

"Work your regular hours today, Ranger. Come home at the end of the day. Just like normal."

I nod. "Normal. You want me to act like everything is normal."

"Yes."

I finish my coffee and stand up. "Thank you, Hector."

"My pleasure."

I turn to thank Juan, but he's no longer in the kitchen. With a heavy heart, I go to the control room and settle myself into my office.

_0800…_

Lester showed up for work at 0745. Fifteen minutes early, just like always.

Once he's actually on the clock, I call him into my office.

He sits down in the chair I point to. I sit across from him, instead of remaining behind my desk, like usual. Not for the first time, I wonder what he said to Steph in the bathroom after she and Hector killed Diego. Now is not the time to ask, though.

"Lester." I'm not sure how to explain this. Should I explain? Or should I just send him upstairs and let Hector explain?

"Ranger." He looks at me, eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Steph?"

Thank God. I don't have to explain. "Yes."

"What can I do to help?"

"Hector's up in our apartment with her. Juan's cooking. Hector asked me to send you up when you got in."

"Me?" Confusion is written on his face.

I nod. "You."

"Why?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

He gets up and leaves.

_1200…_

I can't stand this. I want to go up to our apartment. Hector asked me to work a normal day. That usually means eating lunch upstairs with Steph and, frequently, Hector.

When we're here. In Springfield, we all ate lunch together.

I'm torn. Finally, I call Juan's cell. "Should I come up for lunch?"

"Hang on." A minute later, he's back. "Probably not."

"Is everything okay?"

"She's crying."

"Shit."

"She threw up on Lester."

"_Christ_." Lester really can't handle vomit. Blood. Guts. Brains. Tears. Childbirth. No problem. Vomit. Problem.

"He threw up on her."

"Oh, fuck." I wonder briefly if my employee is still alive. And how much longer my wife will stay that way.

"Lester's in the shower."

Thank God she didn't kill him. "Good."

"I'm making Pineapple upside down cake now."

"That's good…" I let my voice trail off, not sure exactly how to react to that one.

"Yup."

"Um… I'll, uh, be home, uh around six. Er… I'll be in the office if you, uh, need ummm help." I'm pleased to note that I said all that without stuttering.

"See you then." Juan disconnects.

I turn back to the piles of paper on my desk. I don't feel any better now than I did this morning. I'm having a hard time concentrating on my work. More than anything else, I want to be with Steph.

I debate ignoring Hector's request and heading up to the seventh floor.

I've spent three days with her. I've done everything I could think of to help her. None of it worked. I went to Hector for a reason.

Trust him.

I need to trust him.

I force myself to remain at my desk. If he needs me, he will call me.

I hope.

_1500…_

I've been looking at the same paper for at least half an hour. I have no fucking idea what it says.

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. I close my eyes and count to ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty.

I open my eyes and look at the document again.

It's a bid request. I close my eyes again. Count to ten. Open them.

Look at the paper.

Security. Long term contract. Five years. Big paycheck. Fifteen million dollars, prepaid. Housing and food included. Three million per year. Ten people required. Must speak English, Spanish, Russian, and/or Vietnamese.

I set the request aside. Right this minute, I can't deal a bid request. It's taking too much energy to concentrate on the details.

For that matter, I decide to give up on business for the day all together. There is no point. I am too worried. Too stressed. Too full of fear.

I look at the clock. It's just barely three. I have three more hours to fill. I sigh. I need something simple and mindless. Busy work. I head for the gun range.

_1601…_

I killed an even dozen targets. One every five minutes, on average. I fired one hundred eighty shots. Every single one struck what I aimed to hit.

I slowly clean my gun and reload it. Slide it into my holster. Reload my spare clips. Pocket them.

With a feeling of dread, I return to my office. I still have time to burn. Less than two hours, but right now, it feels like forever. I don't want to go to the gym. There's no telephone and cells have shitty reception in there. I don't want to chance missing a call from the penthouse.

I spend three minutes pacing back and forth across my office, trying to think up something to do for the next…. Hour and twenty-seven minutes and …. Never mind how many seconds.

I look over the shelves in my office. Small stereo system. A dozen or so CDs. Books… Mostly technical manuals. A handful of small sculptures. Nothing to keep me mindlessly busy for the next … one hour and forty-two minutes.

I sit down at my desk. I pull my laptop close. No new e-mail. Nothing good on any of the news sites. No games installed other than solitaire. Now is not a good time for solitaire.

Shit.

Frantically, I look around my office. Something. _Anything…_

My eyes fall on the CDs again. I keep meaning to make a CD of all the songs that remind me of Steph in some way. I figure now would be a good time.

I pull out a legal pad and begin making a list of songs.

Hmmm… That song by Meatloaf that Sally sang at our wedding… _For Crying Out Loud_. That's 'our' song.

I close my eyes for a minute and think. Yeah… _What I Want_ by Daughtry. She's always been what I wanted. What I needed.

_Famous Last Words _by My Chemical Romance. It reminds me of how I'd felt when she was doing the on-and-off thing with Joe just before he sent her to me. It makes me remember what a lucky fucking bastard I am that she chose to stay with me.

_The Gift_ by Seether. I'd been afraid of what she'd offered for a long time. When Morelli sent her to me after I got out of the hospital, I'd realized how very badly I wanted her in my life. Completely. I can't believe how stupid I was… Or how good it feels to have accepted her into my life.

What else? That's only four songs. I have a whole CD and over an hour to fill without losing my mind.

What the Hell was that song on the CD Lester gave her? The one I liked and replayed on the way to Springfield? Got it. _Better Than Drugs_ by Skillett.

Hmmm… _Reckless_ by Papa Roach. We don't have a conventional relationship, and that's fine. It takes a very special woman to love a man like me. Likewise, no normal man would ever be able to really love a woman like her. Morelli had proved that.

_Animal I Have Become_ by Three Days Grace. She's seen the darkest parts of me and loves me anyway. She doesn't try to change me any more than I try to change her.

_Landing In London_ by 3 Doors Down. She is the light in my darkness.

_Soul Child_ by Shawn Mullins. The song was basically about what I wanted for her: love, support, acceptance. It advises the listener to be whatever they are, and to not compromise themselves to please others.

_Silent Lucidity_ by Queensryche. Right now, I wish I could take away the bad dreams. Since I can't, I can be there to hold her, comfort her, and protect her.

I search through the music on my computer. I know there's more here somewhere. _Blue Jeans and a Rosary_ by Kid Rock. That's another from Lester. It's appropriate. She's an angel. She believes in me. People think she's a little crazy. Her heart is on her sleeve.

Now, there's a good one. The Pretenders _I'll Stand By You_. She stands by me always, as I stand by her.

_Danse Russe_ by Hurt. She is everything to me.

_Bullets _by Creed. That one pretty much sums up our lives and the people we deal with on a daily basis. Not to mention my fear over the volume of incidents when a gun was aimed – or fired – at her.

_The Promise_ by When in Rome. It's a song from the eighties. Not usually my type of music or Steph's. There's something about it, though, that reminds me of her. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm not a man of many words. I'm not always able to say what I want the way I mean it. I'm a man of actions. I believe they speak louder.

Christ, I'm getting sappy. I can't think of anything else right now. This will have to do. I pull up RealPlayer and put the songs in the order I want. I put slow songs at the beginning and the end. The fastest songs go in the middle. I think of it as warming up and cooling down, with the running part in the middle. I burn two copies of the CD. One for me. One for Steph.

I look at the clock again. Holy shit. This took far longer than I thought it would. Thank _God._ Blessedly, it's ten minutes to six. Close enough, I decide. I shut down my computer and head upstairs slowly.

The seventh floor… 

I stop outside our door and take a deep breath. Briefly, I debate knocking. That's stupid, I decide. Hector wanted normal. I never knock on my own damn door, so doing so now would not be normal.

I open the door and step inside. I drop my keys like I do every time I come home. I kick off my boots. And strip off my weapons and utility belt. Before I can call to Steph to let her know I'm home in one piece, Juan appears and puts a finger to his lips. He motions for me to follow him quietly. I do.

He leads me to the bedroom. The door is open. I have a hard time making my feet move. I close my eyes for a moment and force myself to move.

Relief pours through me when I make it through the door. Steph is sleeping peacefully in Lester's lap. He's propped up against the headboard, pillows behind his back. Steph is curled up in his lap, her head on his bare chest. I guess his shirt was a casualty of her vomiting earlier. His arms are wrapped around her loosely, just tight enough to keep her from falling. For a minute, I'm back in my living room the day she had her tubes tied. I smile at the memory.

Hector is dozing in a chair by the bed. I quietly do to wake him. He can't be comfortable there. He should have stretched out on the bed or the couch. When my hand touches his shoulder, he is instantly awake. When he shifts in the chair, Lester wakes, too. Only Steph continues to sleep. I'm glad. She desperately needs the rest she's getting. Lester smiles at me. She's okay. My knees go weak with relief.

Hector levers himself up and out of the chair. I follow him to the kitchen. Juan does his best to make himself invisible. I wait patiently – almost – for him to speak.

"Lester has something in common with her, you know," he tells me.

"What?" I have no idea what he's talking about. They have lots of things in common. They have the same taste in movies (action), music (metal), and books (none). They work the same job for the same company.

"Do you know what he told her the other day?"

"No. I've wondered, though." About t thousand times, in fact.

"He told her that he would have had a hard time killing Diego."

"Why?" Lester's been in the military. He's been on my payroll for years. In our line of work, people die. He's taken lives before.

"He's like her. He's killed immediate threats. He's never had to take the life of someone like that."

Realization dawns. "He's never killed to keep someone safe down the road, only to save a life right then and there."

Hector nods. "He understands how hard it was for her."

For a second, my heart freezes. "I do, too," I say softly.

"She knows. She knows I do, too. But she needed to be absolved by someone… innocent."

Unfortunately, I completely understand. Steph feels guilt on a level I don't understand. Her compassion and empathy set her apart from me. I understand how she feels, but I cannot always say I have felt that way. Neither can Hector. Juan has never taken anyone's life, so he cannot understand on any level. Lester, though, can. Today, she needed to know that. I nod at Hector. "Thank you."

He shrugs. "I didn't do anything."

"You did. You knew how to help her. I… didn't." And that knowledge makes my chest hurt. I couldn't help her. Couldn't fix this.

"You did," Hector says with a ferocity that stuns me. "You came to me. I went to Lester. You fixed this by admitting she needed help you couldn't personally give her. That took more courage than any other man in her life has ever shown."

I don't know how to answer that. Juan saves me by announcing that dinner is ready. I turn to Hector. Suddenly, I know what to say. "The smartest thing I ever did in my entire life was giver her you as a partner."

I leave the kitchen and go the bedroom. Once again, I enter the room silently. I sit on the edge of the bed. Lester watches me the entire time. "You okay with this?" he asks, using his head to indicate Steph snuggled in his lap.

I smile, looking at her. "Yeah. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure."

I take a deep breath. "Is she really going to be okay?"

His hand comes up to stroke her cheek very softly. "She will. Did Hector tell you what I said to her the other day?"

"He said you told her that you would have had a hard time killing Diego."

Lester nods. "I also told her that I am in awe of the love she gives to the people around her." He sighs. "I told her that she's the most loyal and caring woman that I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I admitted that I could never love those kids the way she does." He stops speaking for a moment and looks at me. "I envy you."

For a moment, jealousy rips through me. It's gone as quickly as it comes. There's no point in being jealous. If our positions were reversed, I'd feel the same way he does. "Thank you," is all I say. He hugs her close and kisses the top of her head. For a second, regret shows on his face. He looks over at me and carefully moves her to my lap. I stand up with her and look at him. "Dinner's ready. Food is the least I can offer you for what you did for her today."

"Yeah. Got a shirt I can borrow?" He chuckles softly. "She trashed mine."

I smile and indicate my bureau. "I heard. Top drawer." It's my turn to chuckle. "I hear you got her back, though."

Lester shakes his head ruefully. "Unfortunately."

"I'm surprised you're still alive."

"Me too." His face turns serious. "She cried when she got sick on me."

"Guilt."

"Big time."

"Years of 'Burg conditioning." It's one of the things that her mother and Morelli did to her that I hate the most. They used her natural desire to please the people she loves to guilt her into doing what they wanted. They used guilt to control her. When they didn't work, the threats came out.

Lester pulls a clack RangeMan shirt over his head. "Gotta work on that." He's right and I tell him so. He reaches out and smoothes her hair back out of her face. "So what's for dinner?"

"I don't know, but it smelled damn good when I came home."

Lester follows me to the dining room where Hector and Juan are waiting for us. I take my usual seat and wake Steph. As usual, she grumbles about being awakened. Her eyes open sleepily. She looks confused. "Hey, Babe." I whisper. "Have a good nap?"

Her head tilts toward me. She smiles. My heart unclenches. She's going to be just fine.


	16. Chapter 16

Four days later, noon… 

A little after ten this morning, Morelli received the information that the body of Diego Martinez has been positively identified. The man had an extensive criminal history, rife with gang activity. At the time of his death, there were multiple outstanding wants and warrants for him stretching from Boston to Detroit and New York City to the Canadian border. The official cause of death was homicide. His murder has been attributed to a disagreement between gangs. Works for me.

According to Morelli, the investigation into the murder of gang leader Diego Martinez will quietly be shelved and allowed to go cold. No real surprise in that information. There are too many crimes involving innocents that the police will prioritize for a wide variety of reasons. Crimes that have innocent victims. Crimes that have victims who were good people.

As soon as I got off the line with Morelli, I called Albert. He's already got the death certificate for the children's mother, Fiona Lopez. As soon as it's available, he'll get the paperwork for Martinez. He also has a report from RangeMan Boston regarding the search for other relatives. None were found. Well, none that weren't like their father. Once he has everything together, he'll petition the family court on their behalf, asking to allow us temporary custody of the children. Once all the legalities have been dealt with, we'll adopt them.

Two days ago, Hector appeared at our door promptly at 0600 to collect Steph for their morning workout. Since neither of them is even close to fully healed, their exercise routine has been modified for the time being. After showering, they both appeared in the control room and went back to work doing searches and monitoring accounts. This morning, they went out to do a site survey for a complicated security system. So far, it seems that returning to a normal work routine is helping Steph's healing process immensely. Once again, Hector has earned my eternal gratitude.

Ella called me shortly after I spoke to Morelli. The house will be ready this weekend. She's going to spend the next few days packing up everything she can. The movers will be here at 0700 Saturday morning. I'm looking forward to seeing the house. None of us have been out to see what Ella has done yet. Even Mica and Heather have avoided the common areas in favor of being surprised with the rest of us.

My plan is to give Steph all the good news when she comes to my office at 1430 for a 1500 meeting. I've called a meeting to debrief the Springfield team and ease our reintegration into daily RangeMan business. We'll also be doing a conference call with Boston and the new team in Springfield. So far, it looks as though the new team will work out well. No personality conflicts. The cops are cooperating fully. I suppose it's easier for them with officers on the security team.

I go back to my paperwork and await my wife's arrival. She'll be here with Hector thirty minutes before the meeting begins. I really need to get some paperwork done…

_1430…_

There's a soft knock on my office door less than a second before Steph and Hector enter the room. I look up and smile at Steph. She stops short and looks a little dazed. Hector gets her going again by nudging her toward a chair. I make a serious effort to put my blank face back on and attempt to ignore how a single smile affects her. Not to mention how she affects _me_…

I get out of my chair and walk around my desk to crouch in front of Steph. Her eyes haven't left me. I allow myself to smile just a little as I meet her eyes. I lean forward at the same time I reach out and put my hand behind her head, pulling her face to mine. I kiss her softly. "Hey, Babe," I say after I break the kiss. "Did you have a good morning?"

She nods. Well, a little at least. She's still looking like she's out to lunch. Even more since I kissed her. Behind me, Hector chuckles. "You gotta stop doing that to her," he tells me.

Steph's eyes snap to mine, regaining focus. Damn. She glares at me for a minute. Then, a smile lights her face. "I had a lovely morning, thank you. And I'm going to have a lovely afternoon."

From the tone of her voice, I know I'm screwed – and not in a good way - for messing with her. I hug her and kiss the top of her head. I'd rather have her annoyance than the way she was a few days ago. Besides, this gives me an opportunity to _be creative_ and make it up to her…

I stay in front of her while I tell her about the official identification of Martinez. She flinches, but she doesn't cry. I follow up that news by telling her about my conversation with Albert. I explain what he said, what it all means, and that, in the end, the kids will be ours. Her face brightens at that news. Finally, I give her the good news about the house. She visibly relaxes.

"I can't wait! I miss having everyone under one roof," she sounds a little wistful about missing everyone.

Hector reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Only a few more days. We'll be busy, _Hermana._ We'll be in the house before you know it."

Steph smiles at him. "I know."

There's a knock at my door. "In."

The guys file in, mostly standing around. I decide to move the meeting upstairs. I'm not in the mood for the formality of the conference room. We head up after I call Ella to request some snacks.

We settle into the living room and I feel myself relax. These men have become my family, especially after the enforced closeness of Springfield. It didn't feel right to sit them all in the conference room. In Springfield, we often sat like this, sprawled on the floor, couches, and recliners for meetings. Continuing that atmosphere this afternoon has put everyone at ease and made business feel less like work and more like fun. The guys from the Springfield team are laughing and joking, pulling the ones who remained in Trenton into the warmth begun by Steph. It was her idea to have meetings like this in the first place. Once again, she has given us the gift of love and absolute acceptance. In doing so, she has made us better coworkers. Better people.

Not for the first time, I thank God for giving her to me. To us. Not to mention being more grateful than anything that I pulled my head out of my ass and took her up on all that she has to offer.

Saturday, moving day, 0400… 

I roll out of bed, looking forward to today. I'll never admit it, but I'm as eager as everyone else to see what Ella has done with the house. I'm particularly looking forward to trying out the master bedroom.

Besides, I have a few surprises of my own.

It's too early to wake Steph without getting shot, so I decide to go for my usual run. On my way back, I'll pick up donuts and coffee for everyone. I slide a couple hundred dollars in the pocket of my wind pants and zip it closed.

Since the movers are taking care of everything, all we really have to do is get into personal vehicles and show up. Ella enlisted Jemma to help her pack all of us up. They've coordinated the move better than any planned military assault I've ever seen. I couldn't have done better myself. Ella will direct the movers here. Jemma will be waiting for them at our new home. Every box is labeled with the room it is going to. The little furniture we're bringing has been labeled, too. Jemma drew maps and labeled the rooms. The movers will be given copies of the maps so they know where to put each item. Jemma will supervise the placement of the furniture.

All in all, a precisely organized plan of attack. I can only hope it's executed equally well.

I finish stretching and head for the door. I run for thirty minutes. I walk to Dunkin' Donuts to cool down. I order six dozen donuts and three gallons of coffee. It takes three clerks twenty minutes to get everything together and bag it all for me. I pay the bill and tip each clerk fifty dollars. I figure they earned it.

I manage to gather up three coffee boxes and three bags of donuts. I feel like a pack mule, I decide, as I head back to the apartment.

_0600…_

I shower quickly. I need to wake Steph and the kids before the movers get here. Steph will be pissed if the movers see her in her jammies. Especially since there are none right now. I dry off and get dressed in a uniform. I have no choice; Ella very efficiently packed every other stitch of clothing I own. Steph, too, will be wearing a RangeMan uniform today. How Ella managed to pack her entire wardrobe on top of everything else this past week, I'll never know.

I get Steph coffee and donuts before I wake her. It's early and I need a peace offering. She's laying at the edge of the bed on her stomach, one arm and one leg dangling over the carpet. I put the coffee on the floor and crouch next to the bed. I run my newly-free hand up her arm to her shoulder. Her hand comes up to swat at me, barely missing my face. "G'way."

"Babe," I say softly.

"Slllllleeeeeeeping."

"No, Babe. We're moooooooving."

"Innaminna."

I decide to play dirty. It's the fastest – if not the _safest_ - way to get her moving. "Okay, Babe. I'll just tell the movers that you're naked and they should make sure you stay covered up when they move the bed." As the last word leaves my mouth, I jump to the side to avoid being run over as she launches herself out of bed. Once it's safe, I pick up the coffee and follow her to the bathroom. I laid out her clothes when I got up, so all she has to do is shower and dress. I know she'll be much better natured once the caffeine and sugar hit her system.

As soon as I appear in the bathroom doorway, she grabs the coffee and the plate of donuts. "Thanks," she grumbles.

I kiss her softly. "Welcome, Babe."

By the time she finishes the first donut and half the coffee, she's looking almost awake. I get the water going in the shower for her. I lay out the last towel. She gets in the shower while I refill her coffee. I place the full cup on the vanity. "I'm going to get the kids up, Babe."

"Okay," she calls back. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

I leave the bathroom and head downstairs. I stop on the fourth floor to make sure everyone is up and to let them know about the coffee and donuts on the seventh floor. Hector follows me down to the basement to get the kids.

I knock on the door. Angel opens it, looking sleepy. I send him upstairs for coffee and donuts.

"I have to get the girls," he tells us.

"We'll get them today, Angel," I say.

"But…"

"You always get them," Hector says softly. "We'd like to help with our girls sometimes."

Angel nods slightly and reluctantly heads up to the seventh floor. Hector wakes Bella while I get Anna up. They're sleepy and moving slowly, grumbling about having to get up. They remind me of Steph. We send them into the bathroom to get cleaned up. We help them get dressed and then carry them up to their brother.

The apartment is crowded. Everyone has coffee and donuts. I find Steph guarding the Boston Creams and two plain donuts. She hands the plain ones to me. "Those won't pollute the temple too much," she tells me with a smile.

The movers arrive promptly at seven with Ella on their heels, barking orders and handing out maps. The rest of us do our best to stay out of the way while the apartment is stripped of moving boxes. The couch and our bed are the only pieces of furniture going from here. Once our apartment is cleared, Ella herds the movers down to the fourth floor. Once that's been cleared, they'll hit the basement. Once everything that's going from here is on its way, another truck will meet Ella at an off-site storage facility where we have other items stored.

The minute the last donut disappears, everyone begins heading downstairs. I give Angel the keys to a Bronco and ask him to get the girls buckled up. In no time at all, the only ones left in the apartment are Steph, Rex, and me.

She looks a little sad. "You okay, Steph?"

She sniffles. "We've always been here. I feel like I'm leaving behind so many memories…"

"This place will always be here. We can visit anytime you want," I tell her as I pull her close to me. "The memories will always be yours, Babe. We have a real home now, to make more memories with our family."

She sniffles a few more times. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears as she looks up at me. "Yeah. We have a _huge_ family now. There'll be lots of memories, won't there?"

I kiss her. "Absolutely."

After one last look at the apartment, she picks up Rex's aquarium and we head down to the garage.

RangeMan Home, AKA Casa Manoso, 0900… 

Steph, Ella, Jemma, Angel, Mica, and Heather are the only ones who've actually seen the house. Only Ella and Jemma have seen all the renovations and decorating. The rest of us have seen blueprints and heard descriptions, a few of us have driven by, but we haven't been inside the house or even on the property.

The house is breathtaking. It's huge. It's old. It's somewhere between an antebellum and a Victorian mansion. It should look ridiculous. It doesn't. Instead, it looks spectacular. The landscaping is old world European. It blends with the house perfectly. They compliment each other.

We pull into the garage, one after the other. It's huge. Three levels. One below ground, one at ground level, and a second story with specialized lifts for the cars stored up there. It'll hold a car each for all of us, including Angel when he gets his license in a couple of years, and still have room for a few more.

Steph and Hector explain the security system. They designed it using all of their combined knowledge. It is the most impressive system I have ever seen. Ever. To enter the grounds, there's a thumb print scan and a ten digit code. To enter the house, there's a second thumb print scan, a retina scan, and a five digit code. The grounds are completely covered by cameras. All entrances to the house are monitored, as well as the entrance to the garage and the grounds. Really, I'm fucking _impressed._

At Steph's request, we all move around to the front doors of the house. She wants everyone to see it for the first time together. She's so excited she's dancing in place. I pull her back to my front and whisper, "Proud of you, Babe," in here ear. She tips her head back and turns to the side a little. I capture her lips with mine briefly.

The doors open, revealing a smiling Jemma, who welcomes us home. The kids are happy to see her and are first through the door.

We all stop dead inside. The décor is every bit as soothing as the apartment, but this place screams _home _in a way the seventh floor never did. We walk through the common areas, taking in the deep, plush carpeting and the warm colors throughout. All of the furniture is welcoming, as plush and inviting as anything I've ever seen. This place just begs you to kick off your shoes and relax. It says _welcome home_. It offers comfort and serenity. It's perfect.

Once our tour of the common areas is complete, everyone scatters to see what's been done in their personal space. I motion to Steph, silently asking her to come with me to the children's suite. With a questioning look on her face, she does as I ask.

They've stopped dead inside their suite, jaws hanging open. Their sitting room furniture is a deep brown microfiber, very soft and easy to clean. A big couch and three recliners face a small entertainment center stocked with a selection of age-appropriate DVDs and video games. I smile and nudge the two little girls toward their room, which is the larger one in this suite, since they'll be sharing it. Angel follows us, his mouth still hanging open.

Squeals of delight erupt from Bella and Anna as they catch sight of my surprise. On each bed is a basket. Each basket contains an impossibly tiny, very fluffy kitten. I have no idea how Jemma managed to get those two kittens to sit quietly in those beds and wait for the girls. When I chose them, they were the two most rambunctious babies in the litter. They were climbing the walls. Literally.

My legs are attacked by little girls. Through tears, they are thanking me. Steph is giving me a watery smile. I guess they like the kittens. I don't think they've even noticed their room yet. It's done in a soft, feminine colors that will suit them for years to come. They each have a white mate's bed with a matching headboard. There are two child-sized desks with matching upholstered chairs. There's a walk-in closet and two sets of built in drawers. We leave them to explore while we move on to Angel's room.

I didn't get him a kitten. He's as excited as sisters, though, when he sees his gift. On his bed, also in a basket – albeit a bigger one – is a black Labrador puppy, napping. Angel walks slowly to the bed. He looks down at the pup. His hand reaches out and hovers just above the dog's head. "Is he for me?" he asks softly.

"He's all yours."

Angel's hand comes down and strokes the puppy's head very gently. The animal lifts his head and wags his tail. A tiny pink tongue emerges and licks the boy's hand. In one swift motion, Angel moves across the room and wraps his arms around my waist. My arms come up around his shoulders. In this moment, I realize that he's never had a father. Not really. There was a man who impregnated his mother, but not a man to so much as make sure his son had a roof over his head, let alone his own room. Certainly not a pet. Angel had always been the man of the house. He'd never really been a child. Here, with us, was the first opportunity he'd had to be a child since he was a toddler.

The front of my shirt is damp from his tears. I can feel his thin body shaking with silent sobs. Tears are running down Steph's face as she hugs Angel between us.

"I… I can't…" he hiccups and takes several deep breaths. "I can't pay you back for all of this," he finally gasps out.

Before I can speak, Steph does. "There is no price, Angel. You owe us nothing. We want you and your sisters to be safe and happy and healthy. We want you to have a chance to do and see everything that other kids your age get to do and see. We want to fill your life with good experiences. We want to help you through the bad times. We want to help you to grow up to be the wonderful adults you can be."

Angel lets go off me and wraps his arms around Steph, still weeping. They hold onto each other and cry. I'm not good with tears of any kind, so I step back and let Steph comfort him as best as she can.

The puppy yaps and wags his tail so hard his whole body shakes. Angel's tears turn to laughter as the dog falls off the bed and wriggles between their feet. He lets go of Steph and picks up the dog. "Does he have a name?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"No. He didn't come with one, and I thought you'd like to choose."

The boy nods solemnly and looks down and the pup squirming in his arms. "He needs a good name."

I nod like I know what I'm talking about. "He does," I agree.

Angel's expression is serious. "I need to think about this."

"Take your time. He's not going anywhere," I remind him.

We leave Angel to his thoughts and head up to our rooms.

I open the door and lift Steph into my arms. She squeaks. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying my bride into our room."

"Didn't you already do this?"

Probably. "This is _home_, Babe. I get to do it again."

She laughs and I set her down in our sitting room. Our couch hasn't arrived yet, but I can see it will fit perfectly with the décor. We walk through the rooms, taking it in. The rooms are done in dark, rich colors. Burgundy. Midnight blue. Chocolate. Touches of hunter green. Leather and soft fabrics cover the furniture. In the bedroom, the furniture is a dark teak. Of course, the bed – like the couch – hasn't arrived yet. The drapes in both rooms are a deceptively simple pattern that ties all of the colors together.

"Wow…" Steph gasps.

I agree. "'Wow' doesn't quite cover this, Babe." The rooms are beautiful.

She snorts. "No shit. I think Ella needs a nice big bonus. Or a raise."

"I think she's getting both."

Steph smiles up at me. "Too bad the bed's not here yet…"

No shit.


End file.
